


Mad Gamer Chick Fallout: Fentulk's Story

by Zoop (zoop526)



Series: The Pwn Heard Round the World of Warcraft [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Chases, F/M, Interracial Relationship, Intrigue, Mag'har, Prison, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 87,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spin-off from "Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick." Fentulk the Deckhand spent a week with Karie on board ship, and you know what they say: once you go pale, skinny, and opposite faction, you never go back...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mad Gamer Chick Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> My muse struck, and declared that Fentulk the Deckhand required his own story. Readers of "Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick" will remember him as the narrator's 'entertainment' on the voyage between Booty Bay and Ratchet. Well, after a week of fun, we find our unlikely hero a little faction-confused. Wonder what sort of trouble he can get into?
> 
> This tale picks up after Chapter 12 of "Diary."

"Whatcha thinkin', buddy?"

Fentulk grunted but didn't say anything. Leaning on the ship's rail, his gaze was fixed on Ratchet, slowly shrinking with distance as _The Maiden's Fancy_ headed out to sea once more. The breeze lifted his black hair and brushed it from his forehead. Part of him was glad to be bound for Booty Bay, his life returning to normal. Another part of him was wistfully longing for _her_ return, if only for the companionship. And other things.

"She ain't yer type, kid," the goblin crewman offered in his nasally voice as he secured a line. "Don't go moonin' over her, now. Got work to do."

"I ain't moonin'," Fentulk growled. Straightening, he scratched his brown neck and turned away from the rail. There wasn't much of the night left. May as well get some sleep.

"Can't figger it out," Jag mused. Though he wasn't tall enough to see over the railing, he knew what the orc was looking at. "Never seen anything like it."

Fentulk wasn't much for words, and just shrugged. Luckily, Jag Gearspinner could talk enough for both of them.

"Yuh ask me, she had a screw loose," the goblin observed. "Almost feel sorry for the poor bastard Tauren she hooked up with. Those two'll have their hands full, keeping that gal alive in Horde lands."

"Karie'll be fine," Fentulk said firmly. There was something about that woman that made him fully confident that this would be so.

"Oh, you know her name, eh?" Jag smirked. "Didn't think you two were much about conversation, but then I didn't listen at the locker door below decks or anything."

The orc glared down at him, but didn't reply.

"Hey, it gets damn dull on a ship, you know," the goblin pointed out. "Between you two and that other weird pair that couldn't stop humpin' like there was no tomorrow, we had ourselves a hell of a good trip last week, didn't we?" Frowning at his friend, Jag shook his head. "Damn shame you fell in love with that bit of human..."

"I ain't 'in love' with her," Fentulk snarled. "It wasn't... like that."

"Just fuckin'?"

The orc nodded. "Just fuckin'."

Jag snorted. "Yeah, well, you can try to fool yourself all you like, but you got _somethin'_ outta that. I can smell change on the wind, you know. And you stink of it. I won't be surprised if you cut loose when we reach port next week."

"You don't know nothin'."

"Hmph. We'll see."

Stomping to his hammock, Fentulk growled deep in his throat. Sure, he missed regular, unfettered, no-strings-attached sex. Who wouldn't? How often did such treasures wash up on the shores for _anyone,_ let alone the crewman on a ship, someone who was largely ignored by the passengers, given as little regard or attention as a crate or coil of rope taking up space on deck? No, he wasn't 'in love' with Karie, but she definitely changed things for him. Threw everything he thought he knew about himself into chaos, in fact. When she debarked in Ratchet, he finally had a chance to gather his forces and figure out what the fuck happened.

His tastes in women were irreversibly shifted, that's what. He knew he'd never look at an orc woman with the same interest again. Fentulk sighed, staring up at the ceiling as the waves running past the hull set his hammock gently swaying. Maybe getting off the ship for good was what his heart was telling him to do, after all. Not many humans booked passage on _The Maiden's Fancy_. Few who weren't pirates or whores spent much time in Booty Bay, either. If he wanted someone for a mate who was neither, he'd have to travel north, into Alliance-held territory. And get lucky. _Very_ lucky. The kind of luck that an orc born and raised on Draenor had in short supply.

Sometimes he missed Nagrand, but he didn't regret stepping through the Portal into Azeroth. There were _oceans_ here, where his own world's great bodies of water had long ago been cast into the Nether. Until he came here, he'd never seen anything bigger than Skysong Lake. Here, it took a _week_ to cross from one continent to another, and until Karie blew in and out of his life, he'd been content with making that trip over and over again.

Not anymore.

Grimacing, he closed his brown eyes and draped an arm over his face to block out the flickering lamplight by the doorway. Morning would come when it came, and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

Jag Gearspinner was a practical goblin, typical of his race. If there was one thing he hated, and he didn't hate much, it was waste. As far as he was concerned, it was a waste of time to daydream about things that might be, couldn't be, weren't, or didn't. Fentulk was a weird orc by any measure, just because of where he was from, but now he was positively wacko. For the first time since Jag had known him, the orc was antsy about reaching port. Like somehow pacing up around the bow was going to make Booty Bay show up on the horizon faster.

That wasn't all, either. Fentulk had taken to visiting that storage locker belowdecks that he and the human used when she was on board. Jag had a pretty good idea what he was doing in there, but was completely shocked to find out he was wrong. Either that, or the orc was really damn quiet about it. Of course, when the goblin 'discovered' them, he thought the girl was in there by herself. That would've been less of a shocker than seeing who she _was_ with. Masker the first mate he could understand, but _Fentulk_? That had 'treason' written all over it. Not that Jag gave a crap about shit like that. He had no problem taking Alliance coin. No problem at all. He supposed he'd take Alliance ass if it were offered as well.

Not gnomes, though. Good grief. He was a goblin, not an animal.

But what would make a human woman pursue an orc man? That baffled Jag completely. True, Fentulk wasn't like your typical Azeroth orcs, with their green skin and glowing red eyes. No, he was brown skinned, brown eyed, black haired... Tusks were bigger than most, but he was a big orc. Stood to reason. His body, on the other hand, was _not_ your typical Azeroth orc. Broad-shouldered and muscled, sure, but not as wide in the torso or stumpy in the legs as they were. Apparently, demon blood beefed up the orcs who were exposed, making them bigger as well as nastier. Jag wouldn't call Fentulk a nasty orc, either, not by any means. The kid was... quiet. A deep thinker. The kind that made you nervous, because you didn't know _what_ he was thinking.

Shaking himself, the goblin crewman went back to work. His momma always told him that loose girls left unwanted gifts behind, and he was beginning to think this Karie person left something unexpected in Fentulk's head that would take more than voodoo magic to get rid of.

* * *

When Booty Bay finally hove into sight, Fentulk had made up his mind.

"Captain," he said, saluting formally. The diminutive goblin captain, Krick Wrenchnozzle, raised his eyebrows with surprise.

"Uh... yeah, Fentulk?"

"Permission to go ashore, sir."

"Yuh know yuh ain't gotta ask," Krick said uncertainly. "Just... be back by the time we're ready to go."

"No, sir," the orc replied, shaking his head firmly. "Permission to go ashore _permanently_ , sir."

The goblin's brows shot up higher. "What?"

"Gotta go do something personal, sir. Can't do it here. Sorry, sir."

The captain blinked rapidly for several seconds. His long, pointed ears twitched with agitation. "Mind tellin' me what..."

"It's personal, sir," the orc insisted.

Sighing, Krick shrugged. "All right. Yeah, permission granted or whatever. But this is shore leave only, okay? You wanna come back, you... you come back, okay?"

Fentulk hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Uh... got anything to do with that wench?"

Startled, the orc finally looked down at the captain's suspicious face.

"How did you know about her and me?"

Krick rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Hel- _lo_. It's my damn _ship_. Ballast gets shifted and I know about it. You think my best crewman gettin' laid in the hold is gonna escape my notice?"

"I ain't a traitor...," the orc said warily.

"Pssshh," the captain said, waving his large green hand dismissively. "Nobody thinks you're a traitor. A bad bet, maybe, but not a traitor. Lots of money got lost when she went for you a second time. Nobody thought you had it in you. Or in _her_ , come to think of it." He chuckled. Noticing the horrified and embarrassed expression on Fentulk's face, Krick's own face split in a grin. "Kid, I don't know what you expected. There ain't no sneakin' a fuck on a ship this small. If it's _her_ you're after, you shoulda asked me for leave a week ago."

"I ain't after _her,"_ Fentulk replied uncomfortably.

"Hmm. Probably a wise decision," Krick said, nodding sagely. "Woman like that... I don't think she'd tame easy. You want someone who only _wants_ one man. That gal isn't the kind." Then he snickered. "Thing about that is, one of these days, _the one_ 's gonna show up on her doorstep and she's gonna fall damn hard. Seen it happen. Mostly to men, though. A lot looser than your average woman, generally speaking." Turning his attention back to the orc, he shrugged. "You all think we don't keep our eyes open on what you're doin', eh? Ain't nobody sneakier'n a goblin."

* * *

Fentulk shook hands with Jag on the dock.

"Gonna miss you, kid," the goblin said sincerely. "You ever come down this way again, make sure you take _our_ ship across. Treat you better'n _The Whoremonger_ or whatever the fuckin' thing's called."

" _The Merchant's Lass_ ," Fentulk corrected with a grin. "You always gotta give'em grief."

"Captain's a gnome. Whattaya expect? Listen, don't go doin' nothin' stupid, all right?"

"Jag, I'm lookin' for a human mate," the orc pointed out. "Ain't nothin' stupider than that."

"You got _that_ right."


	2. Calling for Reinforcements

Taking a deep breath, Fentulk turned away from the docks. _The Maiden's Fancy_ was barely a speck on the horizon; not much point in watching it any longer.

Now that he'd shaken loose his commitment to Captain Wrenchnozzle, it occurred to him that he didn't have a clue where to go from here. When he came through the Portal, he hooked up with a military liaison from the Horde and joined other Mag'har visitors wanting to see the New World. A mage portal took them from the Blasted Lands straight to Orgrimmar, where they were greeted warmly by Thrall himself. Some traveled, others trained. Fentulk was among those who opted for training, and spent some time in the Valley of Trials.

Ghakora. He'd forgotten her. She was learning to be a mage when he arrived, and they became fast friends. She was a little too... ambitious for his tastes, so he never pursued any deeper relationship. Then he went to Sen'jin Village, and she went all the way to Silvermoon City to continue her studies. He hadn't seen or heard from her since.

Being a native of Azeroth, he knew she would at least be able to guide him in the right direction for his quest. It was a start, at least. Nodding to himself, he headed for the inn.

"Hey, Fen!" the bartender called when the orc entered the ground floor bar. "Long time no see! I was hopin' you'd stop by. Gotta question for ya."

"I need a favor, so that works out," Fentulk nodded, leaning on the bartop and peering over to see the goblin shuffling over.

"Hear about that human that got busted outta Stormwind's jail?" the goblin asked. "Rumors is flyin' like crazy. _I_ hear she likes Horde. _Really_ likes Horde. You hear anything about that?"

Fentulk scowled. "Mighta heard somethin'."

"Took ship on the _Fancy_ ," Nixxrax pressed, arching an eyebrow. "Ya _sure_ ya didn't hear nothin'?"

Narrowing his eyes and snarling, the orc growled, "Don't wanna talk about it."

The goblin barkeep grinned and nodded. "About what I thought. I kinda figgered you for the 'ain't kissin' and tellin'' kind. I know, I know, don't get your back up. I won't say a word. So what's your favor?"

He hated having to ask, but to be honest, Fentulk had never learned to read or write back home, and never pursued it once he came to Azeroth. His focus had been on honing his hunting skills, then he'd taken ship on the _Fancy_ where there was even _less_ need for it.

"I need a letter sent to a friend," he said in an undertone, darting his eyes around to make sure nobody could hear about his inadequacy. "Could you write it for me?"

" _Lady_ friend?" the goblin asked, waggling his eyebrows and leering.

Fentulk gave him an even more sour look than before. "Just a _friend_ ," he snarled.

"Sure, sure." Chuckling under his breath, Nixxrax fetched a parchment, inkpot, and quill. "Who's it to?"

"Ghakora in Silvermoon City."

"Mmm-hmm," Nixxrax hummed as he wrote. "Don't sound like an elfie name."

"She's an orc."

"Heh heh," the goblin snorted. " _She_. Like I thought."

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Fentulk tried to keep his voice even as he gave the message to the bartender. Nixxrax dutifully scratched out the words, brow furrowing and gaze darting frequently up at the orc.

"Let me get this straight," he asked as he skimmed what he wrote. "You wanna ask this gal to help you find a mate."

"Yeah."

"A _mate_ ," Nixxrax repeated, just to make sure. "A gal you used to know, ya ain't seen'er for years, ya finally contact her, so she can hunt down _some other woman_ for ya. Is that about right?"

Growling low in his throat, Fentulk snatched the letter from the goblin's hand and roughly rolled it up. "Seal it," he snapped, handing it back.

"Word of warning, kid," the bartender said as he addressed and sealed the rolled parchment. "You get one woman to help you find another, and you're askin' for trouble."

"She don't want me, and I don't want her, so I don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about," Fentulk snarled.

"I'm just sayin', is all." Nixxrax handed the letter over. "Women can be real weird about these things. You may _think_ she don't want ya, not _now_ , but wait til she sees ya with another woman. Then it'll get... innerestin'."

"If I'm lucky, I won't care _who_ sees," the orc said stubbornly.

"Yeah, well, hope it works out for ya," the goblin shrugged. "Course, seeing two orc ladies dukin' it out... I'd pay to see that." He leered and waggled his eyebrows again.

"I ain't lookin' for an orc woman," Fentulk replied. "Lookin' for a human."

Nixxrax's jaw fell open. "You ain't serious."

"I am."

The goblin frantically waved him closer, eyes darting around the bar. Luckily, it was still early in the morning. Anyone still in the bar from the night before was passed out. When the orc leaned down, Nixxrax grabbed him painfully by the ear.

"Boy, I don't care what piece of ass you had on your ship couple weeks ago," he hissed, "and I know you ain't from Azeroth, so lemme spell it out for ya. Alliance ass ain't open season for Horde dicks. Not if you don't want war declared."

"I don't want a piece of ass," Fentulk snarled, jerking his head free. "I said I want a _mate_."

"What are you, stupid?" the goblin asked incredulously. "Humans and orcs have been _at war_ for _years_. They _hate_ you guys. Think you're a bunch of big, ugly brutes. Yer settin' yerself up for failure, kid."

"The ancestors wouldn't steer me wrong," the orc snapped. "I ain't felt nothin'... _wrong_ about it. There's a woman for me. I'll find her. They'll bring her to me."

Blinking rapidly, Nixxrax just shook his head. "Yer outta yer mind, Fen. You go prancin' into Alliance territory tryin' to pick up chicks, and they'll stick you in their deepest, darkest dungeon and ain't _nobody_ gonna see you again." Poking the orc in the chest with one thick, green finger, the goblin said, "The _last_ person who'd negotiate yer release would be the Warchief. I promise you that."

"It's worth it," Fentulk insisted.

"Crazy bastard," he muttered. "Musta been a helluva good lay you had."

"Don't talk about her like that," the orc growled. "She was... a good woman."

"I'll bet," Nixxrax replied sarcastically. "Look, uh, since yer desperate to get yourself killed or worse, I guess I'll... wish ya luck."

"I appreciate that," Fentulk said stiffly. "I ain't gonna fail. You'll see."

"Can't wait to hear what happens," Nixxrax said, forcing himself to smile. He sort of liked the big brown lug. It was a shame, seeing him march off to certain death.

Nodding, Fentulk turned and left. He went outside and dropped the letter in the mailbox, then headed back inside and up the stairs to the flight master. Booking a wyvern, he took off for Grom'gol.


	3. Meeting Old Friends

It was several days after he arrived at Grom'gol Base Camp that Fentulk received any response to his letter, and the form it took was completely unexpected.

He'd spent the day hunting, after reacquainting himself with his old pet, Moke. Though the windroc had languished in stasis in the Nether for years, unaware of the passage of time, he still found it within himself to express extreme displeasure at the neglect. Not even the relative entertainment of chasing down raptors for his master smoothed the ruffled feathers.

Fentulk's knuckles were bloody from the frequent nips, his arm clawed deeply by angry talons. He suffered the abuse without complaint, feeling it was deserved. He voiced no protest when Moke obstinately flew to the roof of the zeppelin tower and preened himself.

After turning over the raptor meat to the cook and hides to the armorer, he halted and nearly fell over upon seeing _her_.

Ghakora had always been an attractive orc, even dusty from Durotar's desert sands. Several years in the comfortable embrace of Silvermoon City had polished her to a stunning shine. If he hadn't had his heart stolen by pale skin, he might have given this woman another glance. However, as soon as they renewed their acquaintance, he remembered there was nothing she had that he wanted.

"Fentulk," she said loftily, laying her hands gently on his shoulders and kissing the air on either side of his face. "It has been too many years. You haven't changed a bit."

"I thought you'd just write," he said uncertainly. "Didn't expect you to come."

She laughed lightly. "My dear, why in the world would I _write_ to you? Have you troubled yourself to learn how to read, or does that simple skill still elude you?"

Though her tone was not provocative, her words stung, and he flinched slightly. No, Ghakora hadn't changed one damn bit, either.

"Ghakora, I..."

"Please, call me Kora," she said, pulling a face. "It is much less... unpleasant on the ears."

Blinking, he tried to rally his forces once more. "Kora, then. Kora, I need your help. My letter..."

"Yes," she said impatiently, though she hooked his elbow with her hands and steered him toward the inn. "Your letter stated your need. I confess, when I received it, I was... rather shocked. We haven't seen one another in such a long time..."

"I don't know nobody else," he said. "I don't know the land, either. I thought..."

"Hush," she interrupted, wincing at his poor use of Orcish. "I know what you need, and I will provide."

Sighing gratefully, he allowed himself to be led into the zeppelin tower's first floor inn.

"A room, please," she said to the innkeeper. He grunted and passed a key to her. She dropped some coppers into his palm. Fentulk's eyes narrowed as she pulled him to the room at the back, under the stairs.

Once the door was closed, she sighed, "Now, then. I've little time to waste in this backwater, so please be quick." She began to peel her robe off.

Fentulk's jaw dropped open, and he backed away from her. "That ain't what I want!" he choked.

Pausing with the robe barely covering her breasts, she looked at him rather haughtily. "Your letter _said_ you wished me to aid you in finding a mate. I _assumed_ , recalling your obsession with me..."

"What? No! That is _not_ what I want from you! That fucking goblin!" he roared, thudding his fist into the wall. "And I wasn't _obsessed_ with you!"

Shouldering her robe back on, she put her hands to her hips and shrugged. "Of course you were, darling. Why wouldn't you be? Never mind. What is it you want, then?"

"I... I need your help finding a mate," he said, staring at the floor. He was so humiliated, he wished it would open up and swallow him.

"So your letter said," she replied. "'Only you can help,' it said."

"I don't know nobody else," he growled.

"'I remember how kind you were,'" she quoted. "'How lovely...'"

"That ain't what I told him to write," he snarled.

"Oh dear," she said wearily, rubbing her eyes. "Fentulk, you still brutalize our language. I should not be surprised your agent embellished a bit."

"If you thought I wanted _this_ , why the fuck did you come?"

She raised her eyebrows and gave him an indulgent look. "I learned many things among the Blood Elves," she said softly. "One of those things was how to please myself." Her eyes scanned his form hungrily. "You have not changed. You are as I remember you. _That_ is why I came."

It was tempting. _Very_ tempting. But he was on a sacred quest, and it would not please the ancestors if he strayed from it.

"You can't have me," he said stiffly. "I want a human woman as a mate. I need your help to find one."

For the first time since he'd known her, she was struck speechless, and her face actually showed shock.

Recovering, her once pleasant face contorted with disgust. "And why, exactly, would I do that for _you_?" _Now_ he could see the orc beneath the smooth, elven-influenced veneer.

"You do not have to do much, just... tell me where to go."

"Oh, I _shall_ tell you where to go," she snapped. "The Nether take you, you ignorant man. There is no love for orcs among humans. You will be sadly disappointed, assuming you live long enough."

"I lay with a human woman a few weeks ago," he pointed out, and she blinked with surprise. She quickly masked it.

"So there you are," she said. "You have already found her. What in the world are you still looking for?"

"She ain't the one," he replied. "She... showed me _what_ I wanted, but... I ain't gonna find it with her."

Rolling her eyes and beginning to pace the small room, Kora snarled, "You fucked a human whore, and now you can't wait to plow another. I'd forgotten what a stubborn son of a bitch you are, Fentulk."

"She weren't no whore," he muttered.

"Then a madness took her," she said dismissively. "A madness that is in short supply within the Alliance. Do you not realize we are at war _again_? I've lost count how often we have been. Orcs and humans just don't get along. And you want to bed one. Good luck with that."

"There ain't no humans on Draenor," he growled. "I got no reason to hate them."

"I beg to gods-damn differ," she snapped. "The place is _lousy_ with humans now. Just because it's a virtual human-free paradise in Nagrand doesn't mean the other regions don't require a good cleansing."

"Just _help_ me, please," he begged. "Where do I go? How do I travel? What do I do?"

"You go north until you are captured as a spy, then you try to keep your mouth shut and not betray the Horde while they torture you, then you die. _That_ is what you do."

"I can't just... travel? They ain't gonna let me mind my own business?"

She laughed heartily, shaking her head. "You stupid, stupid man. To begin with, you are an _orc_. You wander north of here into Duskwood or Westfall, lands utterly in the hands of the Alliance, and you _will_ be captured. If you are _lucky_ , you will be shipped back south to neutral territory. If the ancestors wish to teach you a lesson in following stupid whims, you will be imprisoned, tortured, and killed. Eventually."

"They don't do that," Fentulk denied with little conviction, simply because he didn't know _what_ humans were like.

"They most assuredly _do_ ," she snapped. "You will do whatever the hell you want to do, I've no doubt. I only ask that you not mention our association when they are peeling your skin off strip by strip. I have a few... acquaintances I do not wish to anger."

"Humans?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Human mages are pigs. There are one or two draenei who are... acceptable, shall we say?"

Fentulk frowned. "Are you fucking draenei?"

Sneering, she said, "I would not lower myself. _You_ are low enough."

"Ain't you ever wanted somethin' so bad...," he began, but she cut him off.

"Don't try to compare your unreasonable lusts with _any_ of my pursuits," she snarled. "I believe we are finished here." Considering him for a moment, she briefly closed her eyes and bent a little. "Here. In case you... run into trouble." She extended her hand, and a bright white glow began to grow in intensity. Fentulk squinted against the glare.

"What's that?"

"It is an attunement spell," she explained. "Similar to what you likely share with your pet... Moke, was it? It will allow you and I to communicate. Distance does not matter." He nodded, and she pressed the glowing spell to his temple.

He felt the cold chill as the magic seeped through his skin into his head. It was uncomfortable, and slightly painful, but over quickly.

"You needn't speak out loud," Kora instructed as she straightened her robe and flicked minuscule lint from the fabric. "I would prefer you didn't, actually. Though I'm certain your thoughts are as... poorly structured as your spoken words." Shuddering, she continued, "There is a small amount of discomfort with each use, so do not alert me to every little thing. Emergencies only. If I am able to assist you, I will... likely... do so. Probably."

"Thank you," he said grudgingly.

"Do not expect me to rush to your rescue if you are imprisoned, however," she warned. "I'll not associate myself with criminals, no matter _how_ wrongly accused."

"I ain't gonna trouble you with that," he assured her.

"Good. Now, if our business is finished, I'll return to Dalaran. Call if you need something dire, darling."

After she was gone, Fentulk let out a long breath. Why did audiences with Ghakora... _Kora_ always leave him feeling drained and impotent?


	4. Horny Orc Walks Into a Bar...

Varian Wrynn was not a patient man. In fact, one could almost say he was prone to grumpiness when kept waiting. If Shaw wasn't the best intelligence officer in SI:7, he would have separated the man's head from his body years ago. Still, such frequent tardiness often made Wrynn feel his tolerance waning.

Seated at an ornate wooden table in an anteroom of the palace, the king brooded. Reports were flooding in from all over the Eastern Kingdoms of one skirmish after another involving Horde soldiers. Just a few weeks ago, there was a serious breech in their defenses when a pack of orcs led by one Kurtok the Slayer overran the Alliance position at Northshire Abbey, nearly advancing as far as Goldshire before reinforcements were able to push them back.

What did it matter that the Blackrock clan claimed no allegiance to the Horde? They were orcs. That was enough.

Tensions were high throughout Azeroth, and had been for the last few years following Deathwing's emergence. There was tremendous chaos caused by the land's upheaval: the shifting of borders and coastlines, the destruction in such places as Ashenvale and Darkshore, the devastation in the Badlands, the draining of the lake in Loch Modan, the flooding of the Thousand Needles... Now there were reports that the lands held by the Horde in Kalmindor were depleted of their resources, that though Durotar now sported a great deal more water than it had before, the desert gave way to fetid, noisome swamps, and was in no way an improvement.

As a leader, he could understand the new Warchief's plight. People displaced by disaster were desperately trying to scrape together their lives and survive. To do so required lumber for building, game for meat, lands for farming, potable water in abundance. But these violent forays into Ashenvale were unacceptable. The base camp overlooking Astranaar was an insult and a slap in the face. The sacking of Silverwind Refuge was considered an act of war by the night elves, and Wrynn had to agree.

The only good fortune he could see in all of this was that the majority of the upheaval was on the _other_ continent. He didn't have the same level of worry on his own doorstep that Tyrande Whisperwind and Prophet Velen suffered. For that, he could be grateful.

At least, that's what he _would_ be if he didn't have Mathias Shaw coming any moment now with some sort of urgent report from an agent in Booty Bay.

Sighing, the king rose and paced the small room. He was considering ordering a few guards to go find the intelligence officer when there was a knock on the door.

"Come," Wrynn said with relief. Shaw entered and bowed respectfully.

"My liege," the red-haired man said smoothly. "Forgive my lateness. I only just received my agent's report, and I was securing a tail."

The king furrowed his brow for a moment, then shook himself. Strange man. "You said you had a report. I suggest you give it. My patience wears thin."

"Yes, sir," Shaw said, inclining his head. "My man, Renzik, has a few operatives in Booty Bay who report to him from time to time about... drips and drops of information they pick up."

"Hmph," the king snorted. "More like drips and drops of beer. Go on."

"Indeed. It has come to one agent's attention that the woman who escaped the Stockade in the company of those tauren passed through there a few weeks back."

Wrynn frowned. He didn't like being reminded that his men had gloriously fouled up that little operation by not only letting a single tauren _into the gods-damned city_ without sufficient challenge, but _also_ let her invade and lay waste to the prison, devastate the ranks of the guards within, and then _leave_ with a Horde spy. Excuse me, _alleged_ spy. They hadn't had a chance to determine his purpose before he escaped. Add to that little embarrassment the disappearance in the ensuing mayhem of an apparent Horde sympathizer, and Wrynn couldn't hold his head up at dinner with the other faction leaders.

"I see," the king growled, clenching his teeth. "Did he see her with his own eyes?"

"Yes, my liege."

Wrynn counted swiftly to ten. Nope. No good. "Why was I not _fucking_ informed before _NOW_?" he bellowed, slamming his fist on the table.

"He wanted to keep an eye on her...," Shaw began, but his irate monarch wasn't finished yet.

"Oh, I'll just _bet_ he wanted to 'keep an eye on her'!" Wrynn roared. "Did he get her drunk in the bar and have his way with her, too?"

"Um... he's a gnome, sire," Shaw pointed out.

"She fucks _trolls_ , you ass," the king snarled. "I would be _shocked_ if she drew the line at _gnomes_."

"Apparently, orcs are not outside her range, either," Shaw replied, pursing his lips to hide a smile.

Wrynn rolled his eyes. "Why do you think the bitch got arrested? Damn near caught with her pants down with that... that _fucking_ orc who _your_ people _didn't see coming_ until he was half way to Goldshire!"

"He sent one of his men on board the ship she took to Kalimdor," the agent informed him loudly. Shaw was no happier than his king about the humiliating oversight. When he was certain he had Wrynn's attention, Shaw lowered his voice to its previous calm. "He returned on another ship, once he learned where she was headed."

"Well?" Wrynn cried when the agent paused. "Where the fuck was she going?"

"He couldn't follow. She was taken into custody by the Kor'kron Elite and brought under guard to Orgrimmar," Shaw reported.

"That whore," Wrynn breathed. "Wait, was she imprisoned?"

Shaw winced. "No, my liege. She emerged in the company of... of a troll, and traveled to the Echo Isles with him. It is difficult for our agents to get into that area without being discovered. They're watching the traffic to and from the islands, but as far as we know, she's still there."

Nodding, the king snarled, "Great. That's just fucking great. Any more wonderful news for me?"

"Actually, sire, the ship she took... had an interesting event occur upon its return to Booty Bay."

"I can hardly wait," Wrynn muttered.

"One of the deckhands jumped ship," Shaw said. "Went ashore for good, so they say."

"So?"

"He's an orc, sire," the agent said significantly. "Not only that, but it appears he spent a considerable amount of the voyage to Ratchett... 'in her good graces,' shall we say?"

Wrynn reached up to worry a pain forming between his eyes. "Leave off with the delicate descriptions. He was fucking her. I get it. So what?"

"I find it rather suspicious, sir," Shaw remarked patiently. He often had to put the pieces together for his king. He was used to it. "This woman shows obvious sympathies toward the Horde. She is broken out of prison by members of the Horde. She is now ensconced with the Horde, receiving training in Horde battle strategies. During her trip west, she spent private time with a man whose race makes up the majority of the Horde, and that man has now departed from his position on board a neutral ship, and travels _north_ , sire. He's coming this way."

Now Wrynn was staring at him with alarm.

"One more bit of interesting information, my liege," Shaw said. "He's one of those brown-skinned Mag'har from Draenor." Smiling, he said pointedly, "He comes from the same village as the Warchief."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:
> 
> Kurtok the Slayer - unthwarted from advancing in chapter 7  
> Daring escape from the Stockade - managed in chapter 9  
> Troll fucked in chapter 4... and 15  
> Orc fucked (Fentulk!) in chapters 11 and 12


	5. With a Little Help from His Friends... Or Not

Though he knew he probably shouldn't worry about provisions for his quest, Fentulk nonetheless packed dried rations just in case. He'd never had to live off the land in this world. He wasn't sure what flora, and fauna for that matter, was safe to eat. Moke wasn't any help either; the windroc was likewise born and raised in Nagrand. Neither of them knew what to do with the wildlife in the jungle north of Booty Bay, and the cook's input was almost useless.

"If it don't kill you first, 's'probly okay to eat," he'd advised. Fentulk was pretty certain he could have figured _that_ much out on his own.

The herbalist at Grom'gol gave him a list of the plants that were safe for consumption, but Fentulk was too embarrassed to admit he couldn't read it.

After being told by several goblins and an old friend that he was an idiot for seeking a human mate, the orc decided to keep his mouth shut about it. That left Moke as his only confidante, a bird whose communication with him was largely visual and symbolic, rather than actual words. When he informed the bird of his need, the only way he could convey the idea was by imagining nesting windrocs. It was the first time he got anything like a tolerant shrug from his old companion. He decided he'd have to be content with that.

Fentulk never bothered getting a warg mount, so when he finally departed Grom'gol with supplies in his pack and his pet circling watchfully above, he did so on foot. He knew from a map of Stranglethorn Vale, albeit old and not accounting for the various upheavals of a few years ago, that the jungle bordered Duskwood, and was the last vestige of neutral territory for many leagues. Once he crossed the border, he'd have to be wary.

It still seemed like utter madness that he could not walk unchallenged in this world. He was no soldier, certainly no spy, had killed no one on Azeroth, very few on Draenor. If there was such a thing as an innocent orc, he was it. The majority of his time had been spent in a neutral position, on board a ship owned and managed by the Steamwheedle Cartel, traveling between two towns with little to no cross-factional incidents worth reporting. If anything, Booty Bay was more often than not overrun by Bloodsail seamen on shore leave, but even _that_ group was integrated by races from both factions. Once Fentulk completed his basic training in Durotar, he'd been surrounded by people who had no interest in the Alliance or the Horde, and gave fealty to neither.

Why _wouldn't_ it make sense for a human to find favor with him? Karie had. She'd liked him enough. They even talked sometimes, for ocean travel was new to her and she was sometimes too nauseous for anything else. He had to admit that chatting with her had been nearly as satisfying as the sex. Not _as_ satisfying as the sex, of course, but still pretty nice.

Fentulk's thoughts were broken by the intrusion of Moke's warning.

*** _being followed_ ***

The image in the orc's mind was of shadows flitting through grass, but he grasped the idea. He'd forgotten that Moke was 'stuck' in Nagrand, and the references he used to communicate came from their home, rather than the actual terrain they were currently in.

Crouching low, Fentulk darted into the underbrush, sending a cautioning thought to his pet involving concealment in a tree's branches. He felt as well as heard the windroc's answering call as Moke wheeled out of sight.

The orc watched the road, or the dirt path cut through the thick vegetation that passed for a road, for several minutes. The buzz and creak of insects and the calls of vale howlers were the only sounds, but since Fentulk had never set foot in this part of Azeroth, or been in a jungle of any kind back home either, he didn't drop his guard. Frowning, he sent a questioning thought to Moke.

*** _gone_ ***

Letting his breath out in relief, Fentulk broke cover and returned to the road. That's when the panther sprang.

It hit him square in the back, staggering him forward several paces, but the orc had too much mass to be taken down so easily by such a young beast. Roaring with surprise and pain, Fentulk spun and swiftly backpedaled into the underbrush, the panther clinging to his shoulders with claws piercing leather and flesh.

The jungle provided ample cover for cats with the ability to generate stealth fields, but also gave their victims something to ram into. The orc hit a tree with tremendous force, squashing the panther's body with a satisfying crunch. Then he dove forward and shoulder-rolled, flattening the black cat a second time. Stunned, the beast let go of its intended prey. Fentulk leaped to his feet and pulled his gun. The shot echoed for several seconds, but the panther was too dead to hear it.

Animals didn't understand or experience shame, but Moke at least expressed a sense of surprise. He landed on the path and chattered with agitation, sending the same image over and over: the shadow dissolving in the grass. Grumbling to himself, for that was exactly what the bird told him in the first place and he misinterpreted it, Fentulk tossed Moke some jerky.

There were no large cats back home, he remembered. They didn't even inhabit Durotar, for that matter. He supposed it was understandable that they would _both_ be taken by surprise.

The road continued on, with a few divergent paths leaving the main one, and several rope and wood plank bridges connecting cliffs or crossing rivers. Stranglethorn Vale was a beautiful place, he mused. Perhaps not so lovely as Nagrand, but then, what country was?

By the time night fell, and Fentulk was hunting up a suitable place to set up camp, another jungle wonder presented itself in the form of a downpour strong enough to sink the _Fancy_ and all her crew with her. The orc had endured the edges of these rains in Booty Bay on the occasional shore leave, but they were a whole different experience in the thick of the jungle. There would be no hope of a fire for warmth, little chance of a dry place to sleep, and no chance at all of Moke not berating him for the inconvenience.

When he'd put up with the frequent images of Moke diving at him and gouging out his eyes long enough, Fentulk dismissed the windroc just to get himself some peace. Curling up in a hollow in the bole of a massive tree, the orc drifted off into miserable sleep.

With Moke safely tucked away in the Nether, Fentulk had no warning whatsoever when the figures descended upon him with cudgels and ropes.

* * *

It might have been the next day or the next week when the orc regained consciousness. He couldn't tell. The cell was dank and squalid; a few rats nosed around the straw piled in a corner, and there was moisture and mold on the rough stone walls. Fentulk wasn't even lying down; he was suspended by the wrists with chains bolted to the ceiling, and his ankles wore manacles attached to the floor. Now that he was more or less awake, he was at least able to put weight on his feet instead of his shoulders bearing all of it. Glancing down, he realized he'd been stripped down to a loincloth. Not even a loincloth, but a couple of flaps tied front and back around his waist. For modesty as well as utility. From the smell, he could tell he'd already emptied his bladder at least once while unconscious.

Where was he? All he remembered was being taken by surprise, engaging in a brief, hopeless struggle against assailants he couldn't even see clearly, then waking up here. Wherever _here_ was.

There had to be a mistake.

After fretting for a few minutes, he heard footsteps echoing off the walls. Someone was coming; maybe they'd explain what this was about.

What looked like a man's silhouette appeared outside the barred door, unlocking it. He entered and closed the door behind him. Torchlight from the hall outside shone on one side of his face, highlighting a scar that ran from his forehead down over his cheek. An eyepatch obscured what must have been a missing eye from such an injury. The man's hair was blonde, his face clean-shaven.

"Well, well," he said mildly, folding his arms over his chest as he appraised the orc. "Finally awake. I suppose my men thought they needed to apply additional force, considering what you are."

"Why am I here?" Fentulk croaked, his dry throat making speech difficult.

"I do believe _I_ will be asking the questions, orc." Cracking his knuckles and grinning, the man said, "I have orders to find out what you know. If I don't like the answers, I have full authority to... convince you to be more forthcoming, shall we say?" Leaning close to Fentulk's pointed ear, he growled, "I would _much_ rather you gave me shitty answers. I'm looking forward to using some of the new toys the king let me buy."

Brown eyes flaring wide, Fentulk rasped, "I didn't do nothin'! I was just travelin'! I ain't hurtin' nobody!"

"Hmph," the man snorted in disbelief. "There's no such thing as an orc minding his own business. In fact, there are quite a few of the King's Men here who have all _sorts_ of colorful war stories to tell you about. You may not be green, but you're an orc all the same. So if you have any Light-cursed ancestors or spirits or some other fucked up shit you want to talk to before we get started, I suggest you do it now. I won't be interested in hearing it after that." Sneering, the man turned and strode from the cell, banging the door closed behind him.

The orc shivered in the damp cold. He couldn't believe this. It couldn't be real. Any moment now, he would waken and laugh about this nightmare, right? He'd open his eyes and there would be rain and wind in his face, he'd mutter grumpily to himself about wet clothes, he'd summon Moke and they'd continue on their quest.

He wanted desperately to be soaked to the skin in a humid jungle right now.

After a few panicked minutes, he remembered the attunement Kora applied, and thought desperately to her. He wasn't sure how it would work, or _if_ it would work. He needn't have worried.

*** _This had better be good._ ***

*** _Help me!_ ***

*** _[sigh] What with? Your silly quest? Or have you run into trouble?_ ***

*** _Prisoner. Chained. Cell. Torture._ ***

Accustomed to channeling with Moke in imagery, he sent few words to his old friend, but plenty of visions.

*** _I believe I made it clear that if you were arrested, you were on your own._ ***

*** _Did nothing! Walking in jungle. Slept. Taken prisoner. Help me!_ ***

*** _..._ ***

*** _Kora!_ ***

*** _I haven't the time or the interest, darling. You walked into this mess; get yourself out of it._ ***

The sensation of her cutting him off was almost as final as the cell door slamming shut.


	6. The SI:7 Hospitality Suite

Fentulk trembled in terror. They blindfolded him, robbing the orc of any warning that might give him a chance to prepare himself for a blow. There were many of those, coming from several directions at once. He guessed there must be four of them, at every corner of the small cell, sometimes taking turns, but mostly pummeling his body in unison.

By the end of the first day, Fentulk was left gasping and weeping in his cell. At his feet was a puddle of sick mixed with urine. His legs shook with the effort to hold him up. They hadn't broken any bones, but it wasn't for lack of trying. His knees had been kicked out from under him enough that his shoulders screamed in agony from having to support his full weight so suddenly, and so often. His wrists were torn and bleeding from the manacles.

Why were they doing this? Nobody even asked him any questions.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, approaching his cell. He tried to swallow, but he'd gone the entire day without water or food. His throat was too dry and sore from roaring in pain.

"Well, now," a voice said casually, and he recognized it as the one-eyed man's. "I see my staff has made you feel right at home. Comfortable?"

Fentulk was no warrior, had never been a soldier. He didn't consider himself a coward or a weakling. He also didn't see any reason to be stupidly defiant after what he'd endured. He had a feeling it was just the beginning, and by no means the worst thing in store for him.

"Whattayou wanna know?" he breathed hoarsely.

"Giving in so easily?" The man sounded disappointed. "Very well. I would like you to tell me a story. A _true_ story, of course."

"About what?"

"Oh, the _plot_ is up to you," he replied mildly. "But let me give you the players in this little tale. The most _important_ character is a human woman. I'm afraid we don't know her name, but I'm certain _you_ do. She is known to... consort with orcs, so to speak."

They wanted to know about Karie. What could he possibly tell them? That she liked it best from behind? That she could do things with her tongue that would make a man beg for release? How would _that_ serve Alliance interests?

"I don't know nothin' 'bout her," he gasped. "Just... Karie. Her name's Karie. That's all I know."

"Indeed," the man replied thoughtfully. He was moving, pacing about the room. Fentulk stiffened, hearing the man circle behind him. "Anything else you'd like to share?"

"No," the orc snarled.

The man tsked almost gleefully. "Oh, you'll tell me _everything_. We have ways of making sure we get the information we're looking for."

"I don't know _nothin'_!" Fentulk cried, his parched lips cracking. "I met her on the ship. Never saw her before. She got off in Ratchet, and I ain't seen her since."

"You are a simpleton, if you think your story is acceptable," the man replied. Fentulk jerked his head back as he suddenly sensed the man was right in his face. Strong fingers gripped him by the hair and shook his head roughly. "I'll give you until morning to come up with a better tale. Then I'm afraid I'll have to get more persuasive."

Releasing him, the one-eyed man left the cell, banging the door shut behind him. The orc shivered. He wished he had some idea what they wanted to know. She was simply a woman with an admittedly unusual taste in partners. He wasn't the first orc she'd been with, by her own admission, and likely wouldn't be the last. Why was _he_ being singled out? Hadn't she said she fucked at least one troll? Where was _he_? Did they fear violating the neutrality of the Darkmoon Faire by taking one of their men into custody? Too bad they didn't seem to understand or care that he was _also_ a neutral party.

And since when were the sexual practices of its citizens of such interest to the Alliance?

* * *

"No, no, no," the one-eyed man's voice admonished. "Once again."

A gauntleted fist connected with Fentulk's mouth. Once. Twice. Followed by a steel-shod boot to the gut. Then he felt heat...

"Not quite yet," the man warned. "Orc, I think you know what is expected of you. Once more, from the beginning, and the _truth_ this time."

"I'm _tellin'_ you the truth," Fentulk gasped, breathing heavily.

"You expect me to believe a woman showed up on your ship, completely out of the blue, fucked you _repeatedly_ for a week, then disappeared? She never contacted you before she arrived, and gave no instructions to you when she left?" He sighed. "Again."

The unseen thugs rabbit-punched his gut... he didn't know how many times. All he knew was that when they paused, his stomach emptied bile onto the floor, leaving him shaking.

"Whattayou _want_ me to say?" the orc said weakly.

"The _truth_ ," the one-eyed man hissed, once more getting close to Fentulk's face. He could feel the man's spittle hitting his cheek. "I will give you a hint. This slut is a Horde agent, and you were her contact. Now that she has given you your marching orders, you have embarked on a mission to... what?" The man grabbed his chin tightly. "Spy on the Alliance? Slay the king? What has the Warchief set his dog loose to achieve, hmmm?"

Were his eyes not tightly bound by the blindfold he still wore, Fentulk would have blinked in surprise and confusion. They thought him a _spy_? Him _and_ Karie? It was laughable. Completely absurd.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," he said, unable to hide the amusement from his voice.

"I see," the man replied. "Amarn."

He felt the man step back, and another take his place. The heat returned, and Fentulk's stomach clenched in fear. A searing, burning pain erupted in the center of his chest, and he bellowed in shock.

If they'd used hot brands, he might have been able to stand it. But this was wizard's fire. He could feel the palm of a hand on his breastbone, a hand wreathed in flames so hot his long, braided beard ignited. Trying to back away, he was once more set upon by the men, who beat the orc from behind to keep him from recoiling.

"Enough," the one-eyed man said calmly. The mage gradually diminished the attack rather than cut it off quickly, but his superior made no comment. The stench of his own burned flesh and hair filled the tiny cell, making Fentulk's stomach roil.

"From the beginning."

* * *

After the burning, Fentulk hung limply from his wrists, head flung back, legs too weak from repeated kicking and beating with cudgels to hold him up. The men had left an hour or so before. It might have been day or night, and he wouldn't know. The blindfold had never been removed once it was in place.

 _Get up_ , he told himself. _Stand._ His raw wrists burned like the skin on his chest, and his arms would likely part from their sockets if he hung there much longer. Dragging one leg under him, he tried to lock the knee, pushing his body up to relieve the stress on his arms.

As he struggled, he prayed to the ancestors, begging them to show him some sign, give him some spark of hope in this bleak place. Show him a way out. He wasn't smart enough to invent a lie the humans would believe. When he tried, Amarn struck him with such a powerful lightning spell that his body went rigid, shook convulsively, and he pissed down his leg.

Once more, he heard footsteps in the hallway, but he was spent. He couldn't muster the energy to cringe, much less retreat as far as his chains allowed.

The door opened, and someone entered. His brow furrowed, for the footsteps were soft. Not steel-shod, like the men who had abused him for two days. He tested the air; the scent was completely different, too.

"Oh my," a soft voice whispered. His suspicion was confirmed; this was a woman. He wondered what new tortures were in store for him.

She cleared her throat nervously, and he heard the sound of water dripping. Then he felt something touch his mouth, and jerked his head back. The sharp movement hurt, and he winced.

"It is water," the woman said quietly. "Just... water. Drink."

Was this part of it? Lull him with a woman's touch, make him trust her, perhaps reveal all his secrets to her? Not that he had any, but that was beside the point. Still, he'd gone two days without a drop of water. Let them try to fool him with such methods, as long as there was water to quench his burning thirst.

He leaned forward and accepted the offering eagerly. So desperate was he that he tipped the cup slightly, spilling some of the contents down his chest. It felt good, the cold liquid on his tortured flesh.

"Not too much," she admonished softly. "Here. Bread."

She held a small piece of bread to his lips, and he nearly bit her taking it from her fingers. After she fed him a few more pieces, she set about treating the burn. She used no healing magic, only bandages, but the salve was a relief nonetheless.

Then there was the matter of her touch. Her hands were gentle and soft, a little like Karie's hands. A human woman, then. She must be. So far, he hadn't gotten the sense that there were any but humans in this place. No elves or draenei, certainly no gnomes.

Of all places and times to finally meet a potential mate, and he couldn't even look her in the eyes. He suspected he wouldn't want to see what she thought of him, under the circumstances. Likely thought him a spy like the one-eyed man did. Or as Kora tried to tell him, she thought him a vicious beast deserving of such treatment.

"Are you still thirsty?" she asked. He nodded, and she tipped more water into his mouth. This time, however, the cold water hit one of his tusks wrong, and a sharp pain shot through him. He jerked back with a growl, knocking the cup from her hands.

No. It couldn't be. He cautiously ran his tongue over his tusks, and found one broken. He hadn't even noticed, he'd been in so much pain throughout his body. Whimpering, he realized at least an inch was missing as he delicately probed.

First he'd lost the beard that took him years to grow to a foot long, and now one of his tusks. The former would grow back, but the latter...

"Does it hurt?"

He startled at the sound of her voice, having forgotten she was there. "Yeah."

"Are they important? To your people?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as if she didn't want anyone to know she was speaking with him.

He nodded. "Shows I'm strong."

"Wouldn't... large muscles do that?"

"Some," he said in an undertone. "Shows other things, too."

"Like what?" she whispered.

"Shows I can make strong children," he explained. "That I'm fierce in battle. That I'm... well-made." _That's just youthful boasting_ , he admonished himself with slight amusement.

"Well-made?" she asked curiously.

"Take a look for yourself," he offered with a grin, nodding his chin downward.

"Oh," she breathed, and he sensed she was retreating. What the fuck did he say _that_ for?

"Forgive me," he begged. "I've had... a hard day."

"They will just get more difficult," she warned, then he heard her leave, closing the door quietly behind her.


	7. Her Name Was Joanne

How many days had it been now? They seemed to stretch endlessly, and without sight, the blindfolded orc barely had a sense of the passage of time. What he _could_ discern was that there were two shifts of torturers. After a few rounds from each shift, he began to identify their scents, their voices, the methods they brought to bear.

If Fentulk could choose which shift he preferred, it would be the one without Amarn in it. The fire mage not only seared his flesh, he set fires within the orc's body, or so it seemed. Delighting in the way the orc cringed from his heat-filled hands, Amarn often teased, holding an open flame beneath Fentulk's armpits or his genitals. Often, the taunting would lead to contact, filling the cell with the sounds of agonized roaring and rattling chains. A cold wave of healing would wash over him, pulling him back from oblivion, and it would begin again.

What hair Fentulk had was burned off within a day, and he was apparently no closer to giving them what they sought by the end of a week.

After Amarn's shift left, Fentulk sagged with relief. A respite, a moment or two of peace, time to gather himself for the next shift.

The soft footfalls that must belong to the lady came to his ears, and the door of his cell opened. He had not been visited by her for several rounds now, not since that first time when he said such stupid things to her. Trying to straighten, he pulled on the chains to haul himself upright into a more dignified pose.

"I... please, it is only me," she whispered nervously.

"Sorry," Fentulk rasped. "I ain't had time to clean up. Been busy." He tried to smile, but even _that_ hurt.

"Water," she said quietly, slowly tipping a cup to his mouth. It was cool and the first sip he'd had since the last time she came. Only now he realized how desperately thirsty he was, and sucked it down forcefully. When she pulled back, he nearly wept.

"More?" she asked. He nodded, and she continued giving him water until he was fully satisfied. Then she offered him bread.

It was different, this time. Before, she'd brought stale, hard bread, clearly not the best or even remotely fresh. Now she gave him soft bread still warm from an oven. It had a honey-sweet scent and taste to it as well.

"Good bread," he commented.

"Thank you," she replied. "I thought... it would be better fresh." He felt her lean closer and whisper near his pointed ear. "Do not tell them."

He shook his head. So close, he could smell her. She had a flowery scent, very faint, that reminded him of meadows and tall grasses swaying in the breeze.

"How is it you speak Common?" she asked.

A thrill went through him for a moment. She was willing to stay and talk with him. She was curious about him. Such a blessing in this horrid place!

"I was a sailor," he said, his voice a purr as he tried to keep it low. "Out of Booty Bay. Had to learn it."

"I must go," she said quickly, and he realized the next shift was on its way.

"Your name!" he blurted. "Please. Tell me."

She hesitated a moment, perhaps undecided. "It's Joanne," she whispered, then he heard her hurry from the cell.

 _Joanne_ , he thought, testing the name in his mind. He would hold onto that name, that voice, and perhaps he could face another shift today.

But this shift did not come unaccompanied.

"Well, now," the one-eyed man's voice greeted as the group entered and took up their usual positions. "You've had some time to think about it. Dredged up some memories, I trust. Joanne seeing to your needs, I expect." Then he chuckled. "Some of them, at any rate."

The men surrounding him mimicked their leader's humor, and Fentulk felt a surge of anger. Were they in some way insulting the woman? He kept his rage in check for now, but knew it would be there if he wished to call upon it.

"All right, Fentulk, I believe you know the drill," the man sighed. "One more time, from the beginning. I don't think I have to tell you what happens if you don't give me the story I want to hear."

"Do you wish me to lie?" the orc snarled before he could stop himself.

"Oh my," the one-eyed man said in mock surprise. "Look at you. Have we not sufficiently demonstrated the consequences of a belligerent attitude in these conversations? Apparently, a refresher is needed. Derek, if you would be so kind."

Derek was the sort of man who disdained weaponry of almost any kind, with the possible exception of fist weapons. His preference was to engage his enemy, or his victim in this case, at close quarters, and _feel_ every blow he applied, _see_ the impact in their pain-filled eyes. Perhaps even smell their fear. Rounding on the restrained orc, he kicked Fentulk in the gut so hard, the bread he'd barely stopped tasting in his mouth came back up. The man's large fists, clenched together like a club, swung up into Fentulk's utterly unprepared face, whipping his head back. Knocked completely off balance, the orc hung loose-limbed from his chains, barely able to get his feet back under him before they were kicked away.

The one-eyed man must have gestured to the others, for the ones who had stood idle now joined the fray. He let them continue for what seemed an eternity, then one by one they dispersed, the last kicking him in the knee hard enough to crack the bone. Fentulk gasped for breath and failed to suppress a groan.

Even as the first tickle of healing touched his leg, it was cut off.

"No, not just yet," the one-eyed man said. "You realize, of course, Master Fentulk, that we can do this all day, every day, forever and ever. It matters little to us. It's the _king_ , you see. _He's_ the one who wants to see results in a timely manner." Leaning close enough to make the orc recoil, he purred, "You know how it is. Life threatened and all. Gets people rather... jumpy."

"I ain't no threat," Fentulk growled. "Got no interest in the fucking king."

"Look at it from _his_ perspective, won't you?" the man said reasonably. "There's a _war_ going on, and King Wrynn... well, he doesn't get on well with your Warchief, now does he? Stands to reason he'd be a mite paranoid when a big, hulking _brown_ orc comes screaming northward in his direction..."

"I wasn't goin' north for _him_!" Fentulk roared, his voice cracking. "It had nothin' to do with _him_."

"Indeed? Are we finally going to hear what your mission was?" His voice was mocking, but interested. "I'm all ears. Do tell."

Would it get him in worse trouble, telling them the truth? He'd somehow managed to keep it locked inside him through all the pain and fear. Had he reached that point yet? The point where silence gained him nothing, and he had nothing left to lose? It certainly seemed that way. What else could they do to him short of murder now?

"Yeah," he muttered resignedly, nodding his head briefly. "Weren't no mission. Just... a quest. Personal. Lookin' for a mate. That's all."

He could almost _feel_ the men looking at one another in confusion and disbelief.

"Nice try," the one-eyed man scoffed. "The only orc settlements north of Stranglethorn are controlled by the Blackrock, and _they_ don't like the Horde any better than we do. I doubt their women would give you the time of day before cutting your throat."

"Not... an orc mate," Fentulk mumbled, bracing himself for the inevitable reaction. "Human."

The cell was so silent, he could hear his heartbeat, and mused it would be the last sound he ever heard.

"You're joking," the man breathed.

The orc shook his head slowly. "No joke. I swear it. On my ancestors. I just... want a mate. That's all."

"That is... positively... the most asinine thing I've ever heard," the man replied. "You expect me to go back to the king with _that_ piece of shit? He'd have me hung. How does this have anything to do with... oh, dear." The man released a cruel, derisive laugh. "Oh, I see. Yes. This 'Karie' didn't just fuck you, she fucked you _up_. Is that how it is? Found you liked human pussy, is that it? Can't get enough of it now, eh?"

"She... she was a good woman," Fentulk insisted, though there was little point in defending her now. The man wasn't listening.

"Oh, I'll accept that she was 'good'," he chuckled. "She must have been 'good' to make you crave cunt so much you crossed into enemy territory..."

"I weren't in enemy territory!" the orc bellowed angrily. "You fuckers grabbed me in the jungle!"

"Details, details," he replied dismissively. "You were _headed_ for enemy territory. Oh, this is rich. Someone fetch Joanne. I'm certain she'll want to hear this as well."

Fentulk started and shook his head vigorously. "No. Don't. Leave her outta this."

The man laughed explosively. "What? Oh, right. You can probably smell her pussy, and it's got you all excited. Maybe we can work something out for you, hmm?"

"Did you call for me, Mr. Dorath?"

Cringing, Fentulk tried to hide his face behind his raised arm. Whatever was going to be said from here on out would likely be words he would never want her to hear.

"Yes, Joanne," the one-eyed man, apparently Dorath, said smoothly. "This might interest you. Would you believe that this bit of filth isn't trying to murder the king at all, but _rather_ intends to go on a raping spree through Elwynn Forest?"

"That ain't what I said!" the orc roared, throwing himself against the chains with such force he could hear his tormenters take a step backwards on the stone floor.

"Shut him up, Derek," the man snapped, and his subordinate let loose with a barrage of punches that took the orc's breath away. By the time they were satisfied that he would not protest again, he hung weakly from the chains and could feel tears welling in his eyes behind the cloth.

"It ain't what I said," he whimpered.

"What else would you call it, _orc_?" Dorath hissed. "You think a human woman would throw her legs open for something like _you_?"

"Not... lookin'... for a fuck," Fentulk sobbed. "Not a fuck. More...more than that. A mate."

"Are you listening to this, Joanne?" the man laughed. "He wants to stalk some woman... like you, I imagine... and claim her as a mate. I wonder if she'll have any say in the matter."

"Heh," Derek sneered. "You should see the look on her face, orc. Looks like she's gonna spew."

"I suspect he's already set his sights on you, dear," Dorath chuckled. "Well, if he _could_ see, he would. She's a pretty little thing, Fentulk. A vision, in fact."

There was scuffling, and the orc heard feet scraping on the floor, followed by a muffled scream. Then fabric ripping.

"Yes, she's quite lovely," Dorath purred. "Such firm tits. A little small for my tastes, but a handful never goes amiss."

"What're you doin'?" Fentulk cried, panic and fury in his voice. "Let'er go! Don't hurt'er!"

"No?" the man replied innocently. There was a whimper, as if Joanne were restrained with a hand over her mouth to suppress another scream, and the orc yanked on his chains again. "I think we've hit on it, gentlemen. He won't break if we hurt _him_. Twenty silver says he sings like a bird if we each have a go at _her_."

Had Fentulk not been blindfolded, he would have seen red as the blood rage overwhelmed him. He bellowed incoherent threats in orcish, throwing himself so violently against his chains that they cut fresh wounds into his wrists and ankles. The men converged and beat him with cudgels and whips, but nothing seemed to subdue the orc this time. The pain was nothing; let them flay him alive if they must, but he would protect her. She had done nothing. He couldn't... _wouldn't_ let her suffer on his account.

The beatings, once solely focused on his body, were now aimed at his head as they sought to knock him senseless. Little by little, his wild fury broke down along with the rest of him, and Fentulk finally succumbed. His legs gave out first, and he hung freely by his wrists. He felt almost detached from his body, fading away into darkness, hearing only the sound of helpless, hopeless sobbing.


	8. Ears Hear One Thing, Eyes See Another

He hung by his wrists, head swaying weakly with each blow. Saliva dripped from his sagging lower lip. His legs had gone numb and lifeless at least a half hour ago. And still Derek struck.

The man hadn't started the lashing. He was the third now. One grew weary and passed the flail to a fresh arm. Fentulk only knew it was Derek this time because of the man's special laughter that sounded like the vale howlers in Stranglethorn's jungle.

At least it wasn't Amarn. He would likely have set the orc's brown skin on fire.

"All right, that's enough," Dorath said in his calm voice, almost too low to be heard. Indeed, Derek got in a few more flicks of the whip before the order had to be repeated. "Now then, Master Fentulk. Are we clear? You do understand that biting will not be tolerated?"

The orc tested the air for a moment, sniffing. No sign that Joanne was in the cell anymore. Sometime during the whipping, she'd been spirited away. He drew a shuddering breath of relief, and nodded.

"Very well," the man said. "You've become terribly possessive of that little cunt in such a short time," he commented, beginning to pace the cell. Fentulk flinched as much at Dorath's description as his proximity. "Very possessive. The deal hasn't changed. You tell me what I want to know, and dear, sweet little Joanne will go free."

"I told you all I know!" Fentulk roared. "There ain't nothin' more."

Dorath leaned into the orc's face, making him jerk backward. "How many more times do you think that girl can take a pounding from us, eh? She's a frail little woman. Hardly enough of her to go around. I've even heard tell the boys are itching to see her outside of their regular work here. Maybe follow her to her own rooms. Give her a little 'extra' without having to wait in line. Do you want that? Hmmm?"

"No, please," the orc begged, and his voice suddenly lost all strength. He'd had to listen to it for several rounds now, sounds that could only be from one thing repeated over and over. They kept her gagged so she wouldn't cry out, perhaps alert their superiors to what they were doing, but he could smell her fear, almost taste her despair... All he could do was beg them to stop, plead with them to let her go, don't hurt her, take _him_ instead, kill _him_ , do whatever they wanted to him, just leave her be...

He heard her speak once, a tear-filled voice saying "Please stop..." that was choked off by a slap that echoed around the cell. That was when he tried so desperately to break free that one of the men got too close in subduing him, and Fentulk got a hold of his arm... drove his tusks in deeply and wouldn't let go until they beat him into blackness once more.

Upon waking, the whip awaited him, and had been teaching him a lesson for his action over the past few hours.

"Then you know what to do, I expect," Dorath hissed, withdrawing.

"I... got... nothin'," Fentulk sobbed. "Nothin' more. Please."

The man sighed. "Derek, go get Joanne back in here. It doesn't appear to be sinking in for our friend."

"No!" the Orc yelled, forcing himself to stand on legs that barely worked. "No, no, no, please, no..." He was broken, he knew it. Had it been just about him, he might have gone to his grave defying them. But they were going to hurt _her_ again, and he could stop it with a word. Just one word...

And a pack of lies.

"Dorath, please," Joanne whimpered as she was brought into the cell. Fentulk's nostrils filled with the scent of her fear.

"Perhaps, Derek, we should see how Master Fentulk feels about your cock in her mouth, hmmm?"

"With pleasure, sir," the sadistic man replied, chuckling.

"No!" the orc cried, rattling the chains in an instinctive attempt to break free. "Stop, please. I beg you. I'll talk. Leave her be. Please."

"Well!" Dorath said brightly. "What have we here? Will the stoic Master Fentulk _finally_ tell the truth? None of this 'mate' business, I trust? No? Good. You have the floor, orc. Dazzle us."

He shook all over. It was not in Fentulk's nature to lie. He'd been schooled in the value of honesty by very attentive parents. _Too_ attentive, at times. There was the matter of the ancestors, as well. Would they forgive such a gross violation as lying to save his skin? What of lying to save another's? He frankly didn't care anymore what they did to him. He almost hoped they'd end it once they had what they wanted. It didn't matter anymore.

But he could not betray the Warchief, or the Horde. Not even for Joanne. Wracking his brains, he dredged up a memory, something Hellscream wanted him to do, but he was headed for the ocean at the time, and the duty fell to another. Something about the Burning Blade...

"It ain't the Warchief's orders," Fentulk said shakily. "He don't know nothin' 'bout it. It's... it's the Burnin' Blade. I'm... a new recruit. Just sent to spy for now. Ain't killin' the king, just... learnin' patterns. Patrols. Where... where the defenses is weakest. That sorta thing."

"Ah," Dorath said quietly, "the Burning Blade, is it? Hmmm... Interesting. I confess, I thought that load of scum-sucking filth was made up of warlocks only. What do they want with... whatever _you_ are? Hmph, I suppose _someone's_ got to do the shit work, eh?" He shared a laugh with his sycophantic men.

"All right, then," he continued, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "I'll let Mr. Shaw know about this, and we'll see if he finds it... satisfactory. Of course, if he _does_ , don't think for a moment you're off the hook, as it were. I suspect he'll want to explore this tidbit quite in depth. And you'd better not be lying, orc. If you think dragging the truth out of you has been painful up to now... well, let's just say this is foreplay by comparison."

* * *

They left him alone longer than they ever had, evidently waiting for word from this Shaw person. Fentulk could feel rivulets of blood running down his back and legs during the whipping, and now his entire backside was itching as it dried. He longed to lean against the rock wall and rub his already raw skin.

His throat had gone completely dry now, and rasped as he tried to clear it. He was desperately thirsty and painfully hungry. How many rounds had passed since the sweet bread passed his lips? Bread he had subsequently vomited, leaving himself empty in more ways than one.

A sound he thought never to hear again came to his ears: the soft footsteps of Joanne. Could it really be her, or was he delirious? He raised his head as the door opened and he caught the scent of meadow grass carried on an air current wafting into the dank cell.

"Be silent," she whispered. "Nod or shake your head only."

Hardly daring to breathe, Fentulk nodded.

"You lied about the spying, did you not?"

He nodded vigorously. His breath quickened with desperation. If she did not want him speaking, she must understand this at least.

"But... you were not lying about... about the other," she said, her already softly whispering voice pitching even lower. "You seek a mate. You do not wish... harm."

Fentulk nearly wept as he slowly nodded. Grimacing, he could stand it no longer. "I am sorry," he breathed. "For what was done. So... sorry." His tears once again soaked the blindfold.

She was so close now, he could feel her breath on his skin. He suddenly stiffened with surprise when he felt her hands on his head, slowly untying the cloth that had kept him sightless for so long. When it was removed, he was unable to open his eyes for several moments; even the dim, flickering light of the torch on the wall outside the cell was too bright.

Upon opening his eyes a slit, the accumulated tears spilled down his cheeks, and he gazed upon Joanne's face for the first time. She was unlike Karie in nearly every way: her hair was a dark blonde, nearly the color of straw. Rather than pale blue, her eyes were a rich brown, almost the color of his own. Her face was shaped like a heart, rather than Karie's oval; there was no spark of mischief in Joanne's eyes as there was in nearly every feature of Karie's. Joanne was slighter in build as well; though clearly an adult, she had the bearing of one who is nearly as innocent as a child.

She was the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on, and he knew his heart was lost in that moment.

"Fentulk," she whispered urgently, "They lied. None... laid hands on me... in that way. They tore cloths. They clapped their hands, so you would think they struck me. They silenced me, it is true, but only so I would not give away their deception."

He gasped for breath that his lungs seemed unable to hold. "It was... lies?"

She cringed from him, taking a step back. "I am sorry. I wanted to tell you. I thought... you should know."

"Please don't go," he begged. "I'm glad. I don't give a fuck what they do to me." Taking several breaths to calm his racing heart, he nodded. "It's good. You... you're safe. They ain't touched you. Thank the ancestors."

"You are not angry?" she asked timidly.

He shook his head firmly. "At them, I am. Not at you."

It suddenly occurred to him that she was spending an unusually long time with him. The last two times she'd visited, she'd been rushed and had to leave almost immediately. As an awkward silence stretched between them, he forced himself to ask. He hated being suspicious, but...

"Why're you talkin' to me?" he rasped. "Ain't Dorath comin' soon?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I am a scullery maid," she said quietly, hanging her head as if such an admission were shameful. "Indentured by a debt my mother was unable to pay. She taught me many things before her passing, one of which was how to silence the tower if needs be. I knew I should not have a chance to hear... your side... unless... there was... silence."

The orc's face slackened. "What... how did you... whattayou mean, 'silence'?"

"Oh!" she said, suddenly realizing what he must think. "They but sleep! I have not the skill, or the will, to slay them, though there are times... No, they will waken on the morrow. Much aggrieved by nausea, but alive." She offered a shy smile that thoroughly sealed his fate.

He didn't know why he should feel relief that she hadn't soaked her hands in so much blood on his behalf, but he did. Fentulk may have the blood of warrior kinsmen running through his veins, and he may have more reason to slaughter the lot of them than any, but he was never one to lift sword against another man if he could help it.

"Thank you," he said finally, forcing himself to smile a little. "I'm glad they didn't... hurt you. I think... I can probably... whatever they do next... I can probably take. Long as you're safe."

She bowed her head, the stray tendrils of her hair brushing her forehead. The rest was pulled up in a bun on the back of her head, likely the standard manner in which the maids wore their hair in this place to keep it out of their work. "I cannot... let this continue, Fentulk." Joanne looked up into his brown eyes. She shook her head and firmed her mouth into a straight, stern line. "You are innocent. I believe that now. They will continue to... pursue their 'truth' until you perish. You are not the first..." She squeezed her eyes shut and shivered. "You will not share such a fate. It is not right, and I will not... I will _not_ stand for it." Straightening with conviction, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a key.

A slow smile spread across Fentulk's face. "Joanne, I think I'm in love with you."

She blushed as she unlocked the manacles at his wrists and ankles. "Save your talk of love until I have seen you to the door," she replied. "There is still a chance someone did not wish to sample my Westfall Stew. Here, drink this." She handed him a flask with a murky liquid inside. "You have not moved much for weeks; this will invigorate you enough to leave this place."

"You're coming with me," he said firmly, chafing his wrists and urging the blood flow back into his hands. She began to protest, and he frowned so fiercely, she snapped her mouth shut. "I ain't hearin' no argument about it. If they think you got somethin' to do with me escapin', they'll do worse'n _pretend_ to rape you." She flinched on the word, but held her ground.

"I am _indentured_ ," Joanne insisted. "I have a contract I cannot break. They will _hunt_ me."

"Gotta find ya first," he retorted. "You think they're gonna go to Orgrimmar after a lost servant? I don't fuckin' think so."

"You... you _cannot_ take me there!" she cried, a hand flying to her throat in terror. "Your Warchief... he would not allow it, would he?"

Fentulk's brow furrowed. He had no idea, and he'd actually known Garrosh slightly back in Garadar. The orc being as non-military as one could possibly be and also be an orc, Fentulk hadn't really spent much time in the warrior's company. Garrosh hadn't even remembered him when they met years later, after he accepted the mantle of Warchief.

But there was Garadar. His home. His _family_. Perhaps they would be safe there...

"Joanne," he said hesitantly, "you ever been to Nagrand?"


	9. Free as a Bird, Drunk as a Skunk

Leading the way out of the tower in which she'd been virtually imprisoned all her life, Joanne was torn between terror and elation. Freedom was so close she could taste it, but her deliverer was an enemy of the Alliance.

Wasn't he? Somehow, she was having a hard time reconciling the stories she'd been told, and the reasons given for SI:7's harsh treatment of suspected spies, with the Orc who now accompanied her. Though he was so immodestly covered by the flimsy cloths that little was left to the imagination, she nonetheless felt inexplicably safe with him, as if he had already proven himself a trusted protector.

She supposed he had. Though nothing was done to harm her, the illusion of assault was masterfully crafted and thoroughly convincing to the blinded Orc. He had nearly killed himself repeatedly in an effort to stop what he believed was being done to her. She had no doubt that had the threat been real, he would have saved her from such a fate.

Lies were told by her former 'masters,' though they preferred the title 'employers,' far too often for her to ever trust them. Her mother had toiled for years under the yoke of servitude for a debt that she could not hope to repay, according to the wording of the contract she was too ignorant to fully understand. When Joanne was born, it was not to freedom but continued service, for the contract absorbed the heirs should the primary servant be unable to pay. So her mother's death did nothing to grant Joanne the liberty she'd hoped for, and she found herself entrapped as surely as her mother had been.

At least Dorath didn't show her the attentions his predecessor paid her mother. Joanne barely remembered the man who used to run SI:7's operations before his death. She only recalled his cruelty, and her mother's tearful confession that he was her father. The memory still made her shudder with revulsion, imagining her mother helplessly assaulted in the prison that was SI:7's tower, without recourse, without escape, without hope.

Shivering, she realized they were at the final door. Stepping through that portal would take her to a world she'd only dreamed of, one she'd glimpsed from the windows or seen from the parapet atop the tower. She'd never set foot upon the grass or touched the trees...

"Is it locked?" Fentulk asked in a whisper behind her. Shaking her head, Joanne opened the door.

Fentulk gently pulled her back and stuck his head out to make sure it was safe to leave. There was no one about; no sentries or even trainees practicing with the archery targets off to his right. Stepping out, he soon saw why.

The tower was nestled in a thicket of tall evergreen trees that nearly hid it from view. There wasn't much chance the tower was visible from the ground below, or indeed from any direction. The location must have been specifically selected for its isolation and secrecy. Obviously, fear of discovery was virtually unknown by the tower's owners. Summoning Moke, Fentulk directed the bird to have a look around. The images he received were disturbing.

"We're in the mountains," he reported as he and Joanne made their way through the woods. He avoided the main path that wound through the trees, hoping to keep from being followed when the guards inevitably woke from their drugged sleep. "Real high up, looks like. Know where we are? What region?"

Joanne shook her head. "No. They never spoke of the tower's location. Perhaps the other servants knew, but I have been here all my life. I have never been outside."

He glanced back at her and took hold of her hand. "Gonna be rough. I'll protect you best I can."

"I know you will," she replied softly, and his heart was warmed by her confidence in him.

As soon as they reached a clearing, he turned to her again and said, "Got a... friend. She, uh, gave me a spell or somethin', so I could talk to her. Ain't sure if it still works, but... gotta try. May be sorta out of it for a bit. Moke's up there; he'll let us know if anything's comin'."

Nodding, she looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the great bird, but Moke was nowhere to be seen. She had to trust in Fentulk's connection with his pet.

Sitting down on the ground, Fentulk took a deep breath and concentrated on Kora.

_***Kora! Kora!***_

There was a pause, and Fentulk feared the Orc woman wouldn't respond. Then he heard her voice, and felt a surge of relief... ever so briefly.

_***What in the name of the Ancestors is wrong with you? Are you even **alive**?***_

_***Obviously. Need help.***_

_***I **told** you, I will not help if you are imprisoned...***_

_***Ain't imprisoned no more. I'm free. Don't know where I am, or where to go. Need your help.***_

_***If you don't know where you **are** , I don't see how I can possibly help you. Is there anything around you? A structure, a landmark, anything?***_

_***I don't know. We're in the mountains. There are lots of trees...***_

_***Why does it hurt so much to talk to you?***_

_***How long have I been gone? I lost track.***_

_***I last heard your... voice nearly two weeks ago.***_

_***Been tortured every day for two weeks, then. Still hurts. Everything hurts. **Thinkin'** hurts.***_

_***They tortured you.***_

_***Yes. They're with SI:7.***_

_***Ah! You ran afoul of SI:7? What on Azeroth did you do?***_

_***I didn't do nothin'! They thought I was a spy.***_

_***They thought **you** were a spy? Well, I always did think humans were pathetically stupid. Never mind. It doesn't matter. What do you see, besides trees and rocks?***_

_***Moke says there's a... town built into the mountain, maybe a mile away. A big eagle... stone eagle... Don't make no sense, but that's what he saw.***_

_***A big... stone eagle... Are you in the Hinterlands?***_

_***I don't know! I don't know **where** the fuck I am!***_

_***The only place I know of that has a... stone eagle is Aerie Peak in the Hinterlands. The closest Horde post you may find is... well, there is a research encampment somewhere, but it is run by Forsaken.***_

_***Should I look for it?***_

_***Don't even try. They are Forsaken. If they see you with a human...***_

_***How do you know I'm with a human?***_

_***I see her in your mind. Quite a lot, actually. It's disgusting.***_

_***Her name is Joanne, and she set me free.***_

_***Did she, now? And I suppose you feel your 'quest' is at an end?***_

_***... Yes. She's... she's the one.***_

_***How delightful.***_

_***You gonna help me or not, Kora?***_

_***Yes, I will help you, against my better judgment. Since I don't know where the Forsaken camp is, you'll have to make for Revantusk. It is a Troll village on the coast. They are sympathetic to the Horde, and allow us passage. We have in turn aided them in combatting the more savage Trolls in the region, and **there are many**. Any Troll you see may be hostile. Until you are at Revantusk, assume the worst.***_

_***How far is the village?***_

_***If you head directly east from Aerie Peak, you should reach it in two days. That is when I shall meet you, assuming I have stopped being angry with you over this entire affair. I assume you are dragging this bit of human with you?***_

_***Yes. She was a maid...***_

_***Was? Were **you** the one to fix that little problem?***_

_***Maid **servant**. I don't know about the other, and I don't care. And I ain't gonna fix **nothin'**. Kora, **please**.***_

_***Very well. Meet me in Revantusk. I will be there in two days time.***_

He didn't even get a chance to thank her before she abruptly severed the connection. Letting out a deep breath, he shook his head. That woman would extract a pint of blood for every ounce of aid she gave, he mused.

"What did... your friend say?" Joanne asked tentatively when she saw Fentulk coming out of his trance-like state.

"She'll help us," he said wearily. He decided not to tell her just yet what a piece of work Kora was. Dealing with the Orc woman wore him out. Joanne's relief was obvious as she let out her breath in a whoosh.

"What must we do?"

"Gotta travel across this region," he said with a sigh. "Called it the Hinterlands. We'll make for Revantusk Village on the coast."

"Is it... a Horde village?" she asked nervously. Fentulk shook his head.

"They're allies, not members," he explained. "Trolls that are sympathetic to the Horde. She'll meet us there."

"Trolls!" Joanne gasped, a hand going to her throat in alarm. Her voice shook and her entire body trembled. "Trolls?"

"Yeah," Fentulk confirmed, nodding. "They ain't gonna hurt us. It's the best choice we got. Kora said there's a research camp somewhere, but it's run by Forsaken. Seems like the Trolls would be a better bet."

Joanne nodded vigorously. "Yes. When compared with... Forsaken," she said with a shudder, "Trolls are preferable."

"Let's get goin' then, eh?" he said, lurching to his feet with a wince. Somehow he didn't think Kora's estimate of two days would be enough.

Keeping the great stone eagle of Aerie Peak on their right, Fentulk led the way through the thick trees heading downward, aiming for the green sward of grassland that stretched as far as he could see below them. If they could get out of the mountains, they'd stand a better chance of seeing what was coming, he thought.

Fentulk's hands itched to hold a bow, or even a knife. Haste had been necessary, so they'd left the tower with only the clothes on their backs. He kept his eyes peeled for a thick enough branch, one that would serve as a club until he found something more suitable.

It finally occurred to him that he'd forgotten something nearly as important as a means of defense. Glancing down at himself, he quickly looked away. He still wore the cloth belt with its flaps inadequately covering his privates and buttocks. He was too big to be completely hidden, and ancestors forbid his body should react normally to this woman's nearness, her beauty, her scent...

Unfortunately, it was not the earth's habit to swallow up Orcs too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye.

It was late afternoon when they emerged from the tower, and getting dark when Moke informed Fentulk that he'd seen a camp not far away. Suddenly on edge, the Orc urged his pet to get closer, see if there were Trolls there or worse.

Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, Fentulk turned to Joanne.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, holding her head up bravely. "I apologize that I am so slow."

He snorted and waved her concern away. "My legs're killin' me. Ain't no part of me that don't hurt. Anything holdin' us up, it's me." Suddenly his eyes narrowed and a confused expression slid across his face. "Blood Elf and Dwarf? What the fuck?" he muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" Joanne asked when he didn't elaborate.

Shaking his head, Fentulk said, "Moke says there's a camp close by with a Dwarf and Blood Elf in it. Don't make no sense, but I suppose it's worth a look. Maybe they can help us."

"Can they be trusted?"

Fentulk shrugged. "Ain't nobody round here can be trusted, if yuh ask me. But if a Blood Elf's campin' with a Dwarf, maybe they won't mind a human travelin' with an Orc, eh?" Smiling wanly, he headed in the direction Moke indicated.

Less than an hour later, Fentulk wasn't so sure. Moke hadn't been wrong for the most part; the Elf's eyes were blue, not green, and so he was clearly not a Blood Elf. More likely a High Elf. What _was_ obvious beyond a shadow of a doubt was that both men in the camp were thoroughly inebriated. The Dwarf looked barely able to stand as he staggered across the camp. The Elf simply sat cross-legged on the ground and seemed to be talking to someone who wasn't there.

"Stay here," Fentulk muttered to Joanne, then stepped out of their hiding place to confront the men.

The Dwarf made no threatening move when Fentulk entered the firelight warily. He simply stared bleary-eyed at the Orc, looking him up and down with uncertainty, and took another drink. The Elf, however, rose to his feet and approached, a hand outstretched and a vacant smile on his face.

"Welcome, friend, to Shindigger's Camp," he said loftily, a slight slur to his voice. "Traveling light, I see. I trust you brought your own. Rhapsody's not in a particularly generous mood this evening."

"Uh... I'm Fentulk," the Orc replied uncertainly, shaking the Elf's hand. "You, uh... mind if me and... a friend share yer campfire? We... need a place to bed down."

Long golden eyebrows arched over the Elf's glowing blue eyes. "And _I_ am Gilveradin Sunchaser. You and your friend are most welcome here. Don't mind the Dwarf; he'll pass out soon and spare you his rough language."

"Stick it in your poncy ass, Gil," the Dwarf growled, then promptly fell face down on the ground. Within moments, he was snoring loudly. Gilveradin grinned.

Fentulk turned and motioned for Joanne to join him. As she cautiously approached, the Orc turned back to Gilveradin and said, "Can't thank yuh enough for this. We're sorta in dire straights. Me and the lady here..."

The Elf's hooded eyes fought long and hard to focus on Joanne, and once they did, it was clear they liked what they were seeing. "Hel- _lo_ there, pretty lady!" he crowed, taking a step closer. Growling low in his throat, Fentulk stood in front of the woman and curled his lip menacingly.

"Ah, I see," Gilveradin said, nodding sagely. "Got a couple of friends who're Orcs. Never get between an Orc and his mate, that's what they say." Pointing a pale thin finger at Fentulk and winking, he said, "Hands off. Got it." Once again, his glowing eyes darted up and down the Orc's nearly naked body, and he smirked. "Seems you're getting a might anxious for nightfall, eh?" His eyebrows waggled suggestively.

Swallowing and glancing uncomfortably at Joanne, Fentulk was about to say something when she laid a hand on his arm and shook her head sharply.

"Uh... right," he said awkwardly. "Can we, uh... use one'uh yer tents? For sleepin'."

The Elf's eyebrows rose even more and he leaned precariously close to the Orc. His 'whisper' was loud enough for Moke to hear as he circled fifty feet above the camp. "I understand. You want to be discreet. Honestly, the old bastard doesn't care. You could have at a Dwarf woman, and he'd just shrug and drink some more. So you two go ahead. Use Rhapsody's tent, over there. He'll never know. Might even be glad _somebody_ got a bit of tail on his bedding, since _he_ isn't having much luck."

Fentulk winced, but tried not to make a big deal out of the Elf's misinterpretation. He hoped Joanne wasn't offended. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and ducked into the Dwarf's tent.

Once they were both inside, he sat down and covered his face with his hands. "Joanne, _please_ forgive me. I didn't want that Elf thinkin' we was..."

"It's all right," she said stiffly, trying to put a brave face on and failing. "If he thinks we're... perhaps he won't..."

Nodding, the Orc said, "Yeah. He'll leave yuh alone. I'll make sure'uh that. You get some sleep. Gonna be a long trek in the mornin'."

"You as well," she said firmly. "You have not been able to sleep well in weeks. I think... we shall be safe here, won't we? Perhaps if he thinks we... He will leave us in peace."

"Yeah. Hope so." Sending a message to Moke to keep an eye on the camp, Fentulk lowered his weary body onto the bedroll. Though there wasn't much point to it, he still tried to pull the front flap down enough to cover himself.

He was so tired. So terribly tired. He not only hadn't slept properly in weeks, he hadn't laid down in weeks. Just that blessing was nearly enough to urge grateful tears from his eyes.

"Fentulk," Joanne whispered.

"Mmm?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"Yuh saved me, Joanne," he murmured. His eyelids seemed to be lead weights he could no longer hold up. "Ain't gonna forget that."

"You saved me as well," she whispered as his breathing deepened in sleep.


	10. The Grand Scheme Revealed

Dorath's eyes slowly fluttered open. He was still sitting in his chair, the bowl of stew before him on the table. He well remembered the rebellious nature of his predecessor's kitchen maid. It was practically routine. The woman was used not just by the warden of the tower, but several of his men as well. Bound by her contract, she had little recourse for peace, since escape was out of the question. Sooner or later, he knew, Joanne would follow in her mother's footsteps and knock them all on their asses. Just a matter of time.

It was fortunate neither Joanne nor her late mother had the capacity for murder, even for revenge's sake.

Raising his head from where it fell upon the tabletop, he blinked and looked around. Derek had been taking a meal with him, and was just beginning to stir. Reaching over, he nudged the man's shoulder.

"Oy, Derek," Dorath growled. "Wake your ass up."

The man snorted a protest and groaned. "Ass ain't open for business, sir. Go fuck Amarn."

 _Right_ , Dorath thought, _and get my cock burned off_.

"The bitch poisoned us, idiot," Dorath snapped. "This isn't a social call. Get up and check on the prisoner."

Derek slowly rose, shaking his head to clear it. He had to lean on the table for several moments to calm the spinning in his head and the lurching of his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he staggered out of the room. Dorath went through the same process as he headed out in search of Joanne.

A few minutes later, the absence of Fentulk and Joanne was discovered and those that weren't throwing up in buckets were spurred to action. Dorath collared Amarn and ordered a portal to be opened to Stormwind; this was too important a matter to be trusted to the usual methods of communication.

"Derek, take two of the boys with you and catch up to them," Dorath ordered before reporting to their boss. "Don't engage them; just follow and observe for now. Amarn will join you after I report to Shaw."

"She still got that spell on her?" Derek asked as he thrust his hands into black leather gloves.

"Yes, indeed," Dorath nodded. "Since birth. You shouldn't have any trouble locating her. Now get moving. We could have been out for hours or days."

"Feels more like hours, sir," Amarn pointed out, rubbing his growling belly. He smirked. "Just like the old days, isn't it?"

"Right," Dorath snapped sarcastically. "At least she didn't use her mother's favorite herb."

Derek winced. "Gods, yes. We wouldn't be able to chase'em if she had. Spend all our time shittin' as well as pukin'. What the fuck _was_ that?"

"Khadgar's Whiskers," Dorath supplied. "Warden Tully had the boys at the lab look into it back in the day. Normally doesn't have that effect, but the way she prepared it, evidently it does." Shaking his head, he said, "Gotta admire that kind of ingenuity, even if it keeps you on the crapper for two days."

Turning to Amarn, he motioned for the mage to summon a portal.

"Wouldn't wanna be in _your_ shoes," Derek muttered as he left to gather his men. Dorath just shrugged.

The shimmering oval took them to the Mage's Quarter of Stormwind, and the two men hastened from there to the headquarters in Old Town. It was evening when they arrived, and the streets were choked with revelers. Dorath and Amarn paid them little attention beyond what was required to force their way through. The tower warden almost wished Amarn's legendary impatience would result in an explosion of arcane energy in the streets. _That_ would clear a path. And likely get the Stormwind guards, _also_ legendary for their lack of humor, completely bent out of shape.

Once beyond the Trade District, their path opened up, the throngs dwindling to nothing by the time they reached Old Town. They found Mathias Shaw in his office poring over reports.

"Sir, have you a moment?" Dorath asked at the door.

Shaw looked up from his work and started. "Dorath? What are _you_ doing here? I thought you were busy with that Orc..."

"I was, sir," Dorath replied, entering the room with Amarn on his heels. "The brown son of a bitch escaped this morning."

"I see," the SI:7 leader said, nodding. "And?"

"Accompanied by one of the 'help,' sir."

"Attuned?"

Dorath nodded.

"And you sent men after them?"

"Of course, sir. My best." Handing over a sheaf of notes, he added, "This is what we have extracted so far, sir. It isn't much."

"Good, good," Shaw said thoughtfully, accepting the report and beginning to flip through the pages. "I will inform the king at once. Will you stay, or are you heading back?"

"I'd like Amarn to accompany them, so we'll be going back. I felt I should report this in person." Grimacing, he added, "I'd rather not be in the city when the king hears about it."

"Wise," Shaw replied. "Very well, then. Proceed as planned, and keep me informed. Dismissed."

Snapping a salute, Dorath turned and left. Amarn gave Shaw a firm nod and followed.

Mathias Shaw mentally prepared himself. Varian Wrynn wasn't going to be happy about this. Calling for his secretary, Shaw ordered a message sent to the keep requesting an immediate audience, then read through the team's findings as he awaited a response.

Within twenty minutes, he was hurrying through the darkening streets to Stormwind Keep.

Varian Wrynn was unabashed about displaying his displeasure these days. He knew any discussion with Shaw was going to give him a headache, and began nursing one in anticipation of the man's news.

"This had better be good," he snarled, leaning back in his chair. They were in his office in the keep, and Wrynn had reluctantly left the dinner table to attend to his spy master in private.

Squaring his shoulders and fixing his gaze just above the king's head, Shaw announced, "I have an update on the Orc problem, sir. My man left a half hour ago."

The king leaned forward slightly, a hopeful look on his face. "You've discovered something? Hellscream's behind it?"

"We don't know _that_ for certain, not yet," Shaw replied slowly. "In truth, the beast has escaped."

Wrynn's heart stopped beating for a moment. He certainly couldn't breathe. Struggling against the urge to fly across the table and strangle the calm spy master, Wrynn blinked rapidly. "Escaped," he repeated. " _Escaped_."

Before the king could wind himself up, Shaw interrupted firmly, "It was _planned_ , sir. Carefully arranged."

Startled, Wrynn could only stare, speechless. Taking a deep breath, Shaw began his report blissfully uninterrupted.

"The Orc was 'coaxed' into revealing his association with the Burning Blade, but my men wisely didn't trust such an absurd tale," Shaw said. For the king's benefit, for he looked a little confused, the spy master added, "The group is almost entirely peopled by warlocks, sir. A warrior in their ranks for occasional muscle, though a stretch, might have been plausible. This Orc is merely a hunter."

"Right," Wrynn replied automatically. "Continue."

"It was observed," Shaw continued carefully, sometimes glancing at the report for assurance, "that this Orc developed an interest in the maid who brought him meals. My man authorized certain... actions involving the woman to urge the Orc's cooperation."

Wrynn's head shot up with alarm. "What... 'actions'?"

"Nothing of harm to her," Shaw hastily reassured him. "They kept the Orc blindfolded and used illusion and trickery to convey the _idea_ that they were... well, to put it as delicately as possible, assaulting her in the cell. His strong reactions revealed where his breaking point could be found." Smirking triumphantly, he said, "They could do whatever they wished to _him_ , but harm to _her_ he couldn't stand."

"Now I'm confused," Wrynn said slowly, and Shaw wondered why he was only just realizing it. "Why would he give a _shit_ what they were doing to the woman? Unless he was disappointed he couldn't watch."

"He gave them an asinine story of searching for a mate," Shaw said dismissively. "A _human_ mate. Ludicrous, of course, but perhaps with a thread of truth. He obviously had some kind of attraction to her. Probably jealous of missing out, you're right."

"And now he has escaped," Wrynn growled. "Did this... maid have anything to do with it?"

"Indeed, sire," Shaw said, inclining his head in a slight bow. "My men purposely kept her in the room, not only to maintain the illusion, but also to bear witness to their interrogation. As we hoped, she grew to pity the poor, mistreated Orc, and aided his escape. She now accompanies him."

"Hmph," Wrynn snorted. "Likely learning the error of her judgment in many humiliating ways as we speak." Eying the leader of SI:7 shrewdly, the king said, "Are you _sure_ this whole... thing was intended? It doesn't sound like a master plan so much as a collosal fuck up to me."

"It is true, the plan grew as more observations were made, and more information was gathered," Shaw replied stiffly. While Dorath's methods were often questionable, his instincts were not. "The escape is part of the plan. We _wanted_ him to escape. Only then could we hope to learn his true purpose, those he reports to, etcetera. We _hoped_ Joanne – the maid – would accompany him, for she was attuned at birth. There is no place she can go that we won't find her, even if he takes her into the heart of Horde territory."

"Does she know about this?"

Shaw shook his head. "The servants in that tower are not told of it, no. It's a security measure. Insurance, if you will."

Wrynn slowly nodded, absorbing the information. One thing kept invading his thoughts, and he couldn't help but ask. "Do you think... do you think they're sleeping together?"

Frowning, Shaw shrugged indifferently. "I don't care _what_ the hell they're doing. _My_ only concern is that a member of the Alliance has just turned traitor. She freed a political prisoner and helped him escape. She is now on the run _with_ him. I believe _that's_ more important than whether she's fucking him or not."

Shaking himself, Wrynn nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah, you're right."

"My men are following them, keeping a discreet distance," Shaw concluded. "We'll know where he goes, who he speaks with, what he does – likely with nauseating details, if I know Derek – in short, every move he makes. He won't be able to take a dump without one of my men close enough to see what he had for dinner."

Wrynn's face contorted with disgust. "Thanks for the visual. So tell me; any word about that whore who started this whole business?"

"Yes," Shaw nodded. He flipped pages of the report. "Her name is Karie, but that's about all they could get out of the Orc. Oh, and apparently she prefers being fucked from behind." Shrugging, he added, "Not surprising when she consorts with beasts, eh?"

" _Please_ tell me that's not _all_ you've learned," Wrynn sighed, worrying a pain forming in earnest between his eyes.

"No, it isn't," Shaw replied, juggling the reports in his hands. Grunting with impatience, he laid the Hinterlands report on the king's desk and flipped through the pages of his Durotar agent's report received only that morning. "She was sighted leaving the Echo Isles a few days ago, arriving in Sen'jin Village. From there, she accompanied a Troll to Razor Hill, stayed overnight, then went on to Orgrimmar. She must have been covering her tracks, for her partner, the Troll, sent a coded message to the Warchief requesting an audience. My agents inform me that the message was about hunting down a particular Troll by the name of Roznik. Probably her contact. She remained in Orgrimmar for two days, then left in the company of a different Troll, likely this Roznik. They returned to Sen'jin then went on to the Isles."

Looking up from the scrawled notes of his gnomish agents, he met the fierce glare of his king and paused.

"You mean to tell me," Wrynn said slowly, "with all the resources at my command, I don't have a spy _inside_ Orgrimmar?"

Shaw frowned in bafflement. "Sire, we've _never_ had a spy inside Orgrimmar. We can't _get_ inside Orgrimmar. We can't get into the Echo Isles either, and that's the _least_ fortified stronghold in all of Horde territory. For crying out loud, you only need to _swim_ to it and hide in the bushes. But we _still_ can't get in there."

" _Why not_?" the king exploded in fury. "Why the fuck not? Put someone in Orgrimmar, put someone in the Echo Isles. I want to get to the bottom of this, and I won't accept stupid excuses."

"Sire, the 'stupid excuse' we have is that our agents _can't get in_. We don't have any counter agents, no one of a Horde race is willing to work for us..."

"What about those Steamwheedle Cartel goblins?" Wrynn countered. "They'll murder their own mothers for a few coins. Or any Troll anywhere in the Light-cursed jungles of Stranglethorn, for that matter. _They_ certainly have no love for the Horde."

"Even less love for the Alliance," Shaw pointed out. "They are _jungle_ Trolls, sire. The Darkspear are _forest_ Trolls. We may not notice the differences, but the Horde would know immediately. As for the goblins, they may be opportunistic, but they aren't stupid. I don't think we could put up the coin necessary for the risk they'd be taking."

Deflating petulantly, Wrynn grumbled under his breath, "Wish I could get a hold of this Karie person. Maybe we could cut a deal with _her_. She's already ingratiated herself with the Warchief. Probably fucking him too." Narrowing his eyes in thought, he said, "What _about_ the Burning Blade? They've given Thrall a load of trouble in the past; I can't imagine they'd be less a pain in Hellscream's ass. What about cutting a deal with them?"

"Warlocks are notoriously more opportunistic than goblins," Shaw said disdainfully. "Perhaps not for coin, but for... other things." He shuddered in spite of himself. "They can't be trusted any more than the cartel."

Desperately, Wrynn suggested, "Twilight's Hammer?" Shaw gave him a withering look. "Just a thought," the king muttered, chagrined. Rallying himself, he said, "We're not done, Shaw. I want agents in Orgrimmar. We should have had them _before_ now. I trust you will bend your will in that direction."

"As you command, sire," Shaw said, bowing. He didn't point out that his will was 'bent' in so many directions by his volatile and capricious king, he could barely keep his head above water. Informing Wrynn of this, however, was a career limiting move, and Shaw was smart enough to know when to protest and when to obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:
> 
> Why Karie prefers the rear-entry approach - noted in chapter 7  
> Trip to Sen'jin - field trip covered in chapter 27  
> Overnight stay in Razor Hill - chasing Mr. Pouty in chapter 28  
> Orgimmar adventures and various family traumas expounded in chapters 29 through 35  
> Returned to Sen'jin and the Echo Isles in chapter 36


	11. Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

Never in her life had Joanne been exposed to this much of a man in one sitting. The men of SI:7 ensured the male prisoners were covered so not to offend the eyes of the female servants who often tended the minor wounds or distributed the food. In Fentulk's case, being larger than most, the modest covering was... _too_ modest. Thoroughly inadequate, as a matter of fact. He was lying in the tent entrance where he'd collapsed, fast asleep... almost like an immovable boulder. And just as hard.

She couldn't take her eyes off it. She wasn't a child; she'd been told of these things. She understood what it was _supposed_ to be like. At least her mother hadn't been so embittered and broken that she described relations with men as universally horrible and degrading. With the right man, it was to be enjoyed.

But Fentulk was... large. Everything about him was so intimidatingly _large_. The pathetic flap of cloth over his member was no match for it when it saw fit to stand at attention. It simply shoved the flimsy covering aside and stood proud and tall...

And she could not take her eyes off it.

One of his large brown hands was there as well, cupping his privates and occasionally scratching the sack of skin containing who knew what at the base of the rigid pole.

She was dimly aware of his contented snoring, like a gentle rumble in his chest. It seemed to belie the vision of wantonness his tumescent member flaunted.

Words of her mother's returned to her, warning her to be wary of the men when they had certain looks about them. Informing her that when a man hardens as Fentulk had, he wishes satisfaction, and will seek it out. She remembered the sadness and resignation in her mother's eyes all too well.

But Fentulk was not one of the men of the tower. Perhaps the rules did not apply in all cases. He sought to protect her from such humiliations as men like Derek would have happily applied if given the nod. And truly, as she continued to examine his body from head to toe in the halflight of morning, she marveled at his wild beauty. She let herself, for just a brief moment, long for his embrace. There was strength in his arms, enough to keep her safe forever. There was love in his heart, enough to take her from that miserable prison to somewhere far away where her 'employers' could not hope to retrieve her.

When he could easily have slit all their throats in their sleep. Being an Orc, such a warlike race, she was certain he would have considered himself justified after what was done to him. Yet he didn't even seem to consider taking such revenge. He followed her out without question; he didn't ask for a weapon or even better clothing. He wanted as far from that place as she did, as quickly as possible.

He must be a man of peace, she reasoned. A man of peace would not assault her. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she relaxed. There was no place on Azeroth safer than this tent in the mountains with Fentulk.

Quite suddenly, his body jerked, and his eyes flared open. His breathing quickened as he looked around in a panic, disoriented. He'd been dreaming... was he still there? Had the _escape_ been a dream?

"It is all right, Fentulk," Joanne's soft voice soothed nearby. "We are safe."

Closing his eyes for a moment and visibly wilting, he tried to calm himself. Not all of him relaxed, however. His eyes popped open again, and he looked down his body.

Shame and embarrassment darkened his brown cheeks as he hastily sat up and covered himself the best he could with the cloth and his own hands. He couldn't look at her. How could she not have seen the state he was in? And after what those men threatened to do to her... to see _him_...

Fentulk sat stiffly, trying to think of anything but her _looking_ at it, likely scared out of her mind by the implications. He drew deep breaths and thought about fishing off the deck of _The Maiden's Fancy_ when it was becalmed. Getting rope burns from hauling in the sails during a storm. Passengers heaving their guts over the side in rough seas. _Anything_ but the woman next to him in the close confines of the tent.

Gradually, his mutinous cock stood down, yet he could not bring himself to meet her eyes.

"Uh... I'll just... go see about breakfast," he muttered, and started to leave. "You stay here."

"Fentulk," she said, then laughed slightly. "I simply must relieve myself."

"Oh... yeah," he replied awkwardly. "Yeah... sorry. Come on then."

Together they left the tent. A campfire was crackling merrily, and the Dwarf sat on a log in front of it nursing a large, foaming beer mug. The High Elf, Gilveradin, greeted them warmly.

"Good morning to you," he called. Then he smirked. "Either you're the quietest Orc on Azeroth, or I passed out and missed the whole thing." At Fentulk's murderous glower, he backed off, holding his hands up. "Hey, sorry. Just kidding."

Joanne caught Fentulk's eye for a moment, then hastened off into the bushes. The Orc kept the two idiots in his sights while she was gone. Taking a moment, he located Moke off hunting small game and conveyed a request to bring a rabbit or something to him, then turned to the Elf.

"There any way you can get me pants?" he muttered.

Following Fentulk's discreet lead, Gil leaned closer and whispered, "What happened to your pants?"

Not wanting to go into the whole story, Fentulk debated how much he should tell. The less anyone knew, the safer they'd be, he figured. "Alliance caught me," he said with a sigh. That much was probably reasonably common enough. Gil's sympathetic nod told him he was right. "They took everything. That woman – Joanne – she helped me escape. Didn't have time to get nothin' on the way out."

"Oh!" the Elf said, realization dawning. "So you're not..." He pointed between Fentulk and Joanne as she emerged from the bushes. "You're not _together_?"

"No," Fentulk grudgingly admitted. He sorely wished they were, but it was grossly presumptuous of him to think it, an insult to the poor woman's kindness to let Gil continue believing it. "We're just... helpin' each other. That's all."

Gilveradin's eyes seemed to bore into Fentulk's. He suddenly appeared far more sober than his behavior implied. "Right. Just... helping each other. That's all it is."

Nodding slowly, Fentulk growled, "Yeah. That's _all_ it is."

"Let me see if Shindigger's got anything," Gil said. "He's got a big ass for a Dwarf. Might be short, but it might fit you." The Elf headed over to his friend's packs and started rifling them. Shindigger didn't even take notice of him.

Moments later, Gil triumphantly returned with a pair of breeches cut for a Dwarf too deep in his cups to mind his figure. Still, Fentulk's bulky thighs were a hindrance, and Gil had to shred the pant legs just to get them on the Orc. Once in place, they were a snug fit, but did a fair job of covering what had been hanging free before.

Except that if his member hardened again, there was no room for it to do so comfortably. Shoving the thought away, Fentulk told himself to just keep thinking of passengers puking over the rails. That would keep even his strongest lustful thoughts at bay.

"Not terribly stylish, but I don't think they have Orcish tailors in Ironforge," Gil chuckled, appraising the only slightly less immodestly dressed Orc.

Rolling his eyes, Fentulk glanced at Joanne, sitting at the fire and trying to engage the nearly catatonic Dwarf in conversation.

"I wish you luck," Gil said somberly.

Shaking himself, the Orc nodded. "Yeah. Don't know these lands, and I got no weapons. Just Moke. You know what sorta beasts we'll run into?"

Gil shook his head. "I'm not talking about that. I mean _her_."

Swallowing a hard lump, Fentulk looked away. "Take more'n luck, friend."

"Women are interesting creatures," the Elf said wistfully. "They can surprise you, sometimes. You think you've offended them, and they're laughing at your ribald jokes. You see a frail shell and assume they're weak, and they can't be taken down by word or deed." Nodding toward Joanne, he said, "I see a woman who's damn grateful for getting out of that prison or whatever it was." Looking the attentive Orc up and down, he said, "Probably _really_ grateful. You don't strike me as the sort to take advantage of that."

"I ain't."

"Good," Gil nodded. "I've known a few of you who wouldn't bat an eye. I have no love for the Horde _or_ the Alliance, but I don't hate their people." Gesturing toward the swaying Dwarf at the fire, he smirked. "If I did, that sod would have been carrion years ago. No, we're all just people, trying to live like anybody else. It's our leaders who don't know when to shut up and make peace." He clapped the Orc on the shoulder and grinned. "You make peace, maybe you'll _get_ a piece, eh?"

The joke was so bad, even Fentulk couldn't help chuckling over it. Rolling his eyes, he grunted with amusement.

"Now, about the rest of it," Gil said briskly, rubbing his hands together. "Where are you two headed?"

"Friend of mine's meetin' us at Revantusk," Fentulk replied.

"All right. There's a path down to the grasslands over there," he said, pointing. "Take that down and you'll get to a road. Follow the road and avoid the Trolls, you should get there in a day."

"Already runnin' late," Fentulk groused. "Kora ain't gonna be happy 'bout that."

* * *

Bidding farewell to the odd pair, Fentulk took the lead down the path Gil told him of. The Elf even gave him a slightly rusty sword. He would have preferred a bow; his training in swordplay was many years behind him. But at least it was a weapon of some sort.

He kept replaying in his mind Gil's words when they parted company. The Elf said he'd watched Joanne once he knew she wasn't the Orc's mate. He'd even gone so far as to speak in Orcish to make sure she didn't know what he told Fentulk.

"I think there's more than gratitude there," Gil had said. "Maybe you can't see it, since you don't believe it's there, but _I_ can see it. She won't turn you away if you approach her."

Part of him dismissed it as drunken ramblings, but it was a weak argument. Gilveradin Sunchaser seemed to wear drunkenness as a cloak when it suited him, and he had been stone cold sober when he said those words. Still, most of Fentulk denied the truth of it, while a small part sang with hope.

The trail was rough and winding; Joanne frequently clung to his arm to steady her feet on the uneven ground.

_Puking passengers... puking passengers... puking passengers..._

Moke circled dilligently overhead, relaying images of what awaited them at the bottom. Wolves, mostly. Large ones. Some gryphons glided lazily close to the ground, far below where Moke flew. Fentulk had to assume that, though he knew they were used by the Alliance as mounts, they would likely be hostile in the wild.

Halfway down, they stopped for a moment to rest. His body was gradually becoming accustomed to movement again, but it was a slow adjustment. He'd just been beaten so hard for so long... his muscles didn't want to flex.

"Are you well?" Joanne asked, touching his arm, a worried look on her face.

_Puking passengers..._

"Yeah," he forced himself to say. "Just get tired fast. Didn't used to be like this."

Smiling, she sat on the rock next to him. "I suspect you have not been treated so poorly before, either." Sighing, she gripped her knees tightly. "Please forgive me. How you must hate my people after what they did to you. And for such little cause."

He shrugged. "Bein' on a neutral ship, I saw all the races on this world. Ain't one more or less rotten than another. See a man stealin' from another one day, see one givin' his last crust to a stranger the next. Just people. Race don't matter."

"I wish that were true," she said sadly. "My experience has been terribly limited, I admit, but... my own kind." She shook her head. "They caused such pain, not just in you, but others. All Horde races. When a human or Night Elf was brought in for questioning, it was _never_... They _never_ did to an Alliance race what they did to the Horde." Brow pinching angrily, she said, "And the _names_ they called them... such filthy names. As if they weren't... people. As if they were animals."

Fentulk couldn't help feeling warmed by her indignation. The ancestors must surely have brought them together intentionally. In so short a span of time, she was already the most important person in the world to him. Yet he still had doubts that his affection, were he to voice it, would be welcomed. She was a human and he an Orc, after all. Their races were established enemies in this world. Few called themselves friends.

 _What of Karie?_ he thought suddenly, and his loins stirred in remembrance of their brief time together. That alone seemed a betrayal of the woman he was now with. But it was a good question. She had been completely unfettered by racial biases when she approached him on the ship. Could he possibly hope that Joanne would be as free of such concerns?

One glance at her face reminded him that Joanne was not, in any way, like Karie. The woman he bedded weeks ago was experienced in such matters; she knew what she wanted, and wasn't afraid to take it. Joanne was innocent in so many ways he felt like a rapacious barbarian next to her. He'd prove it if he pressed his suit now.

"We're all animals," he finally said. "Just... some're more vicious than others, I suppose." Standing stiffly, he stretched. "Better keep goin'. Don't wanna lose the daylight."

The remainder of the trail sloped gently down to the grassy valley below, and was much easier on them. Fentulk was barefoot and Joanne's shoes were ill-suited to such rugged terrain.

Their relief at finally reaching the bottom was short-lived as a pair of wolves leaped out of hiding without warning.

Roaring instinctively, Fentulk pushed Joanne behind him and met the wolves head-on with the borrowed sword. Moke swooped down from the heavens with a shriek and aimed for the foremost wolf's eyes.

Barely clothed and not even slightly armored, Fentulk took several bite and claw wounds in the battle, but he managed to defeat the beasts, with Moke's help. Gasping for breath, for even such a short melee took the wind out of his broken body, he turned to Joanne.

"You all right?"

Speechless, she nodded. Her eyes flicked over his body, from one tear or puncture to another. Small rivulets of blood ran down his brown chest and found their way around the contours of his muscular arms. Joanne was confused; how could the sight of him, bloodied from battle with a sheen on his skin from the exertion, cause such conflicting emotions? She was, at the same time, anxious to clean and bind his wounds, and desperate to run her hands over every inch of him for a completely unrelated purpose.

That strange feeling was momentarily quelled when he hunkered down and began butchering the wolves. She had to turn away lest she show ingratitude for his bravery by vomiting.

"Sorry 'bout this," he muttered as he worked. "We'll need food. Lucky us, eh?"

"Yes," she whispered weakly, "very lucky."

"If I had my pack, I could turn these hides into decent breeches," he continued. "Feel like I'm gonna bust outta these. Even fat dwarves ain't as big as Orcs." He chuckled as he cut the meat into small enough pieces to wrap in the hide. "Grow'em big in Nagrand. You'll like it there."

"What... what is it like?" she asked, hugging herself.

"Beautiful," he said, pausing for a moment. "Hills and grasslands. Trees. Bits of the land floating in the sky from when the world blew up. That was before my time. They got their own grasses and trees, up in the sky. Every day's like wakin' up in a dream." Snorting with embarrassment, he went back to the butchering. "Guess I miss it. Been gone so long, seems like a dream now."

"I'm looking forward to seeing it," Joanne said softly, turning slightly but not quite letting herself see what he was doing.

"Can't wait to show you," he rumbled quietly. A silly old wish of his in his youth came back to him as he looked at her. He'd daydreamed of flying up to one of those little islands with his mate, of making love in the sky. His throat closed, looking at Joanne, knowing that the mate in his dreams now had a face, and would always have _her_ face, even if they parted ways and he never laid eyes on her again.

Wiping his hands the best he could on the grass, Fentulk gathered the meat in one of the hides and hoisted the makeshift sack onto his shoulder. "All right, job's done. Let's get goin'."

Nodding, she fell into step beside him.

As Gil had said, they found themselves on a road of sorts. It was mostly a dirt trail worn into the grass from heavy traffic over many years. There wasn't much cover from prying eyes there, either. If they were followed, they stood out quite well on such a well-traveled road.

Still, neither knew the area, and venturing far from the known landmarks would likely get them hopelessly lost. It was a risk they had to take. Firming his grip on the sword, Fentulk headed east with Joanne at his side.

A couple of hours passed uneventfully when they saw looming ahead a great sand-colored wall. Not knowing what a Troll settlement looked like here in the Hinterlands, Fentulk and Joanne were simply curious. Moke could only convey there were many Trolls beyond the wall; he couldn't tell if they were friendly or not.

"Could this be that village you're looking for?" Joanne asked as they paused on the road where it turned south past the settlement.

Fentulk shrugged. "Don't know. Kora said it was on the coast. We could be right outside that village or twenty miles from it. I got no idea." Brief anger flared in him over the omission; the damned woman could have given him more than 'walk east until you run into it.' He _was_ walking east, and he _had_ run into something. Were they the right Trolls or the wrong ones? A mistake at this point would be the end of them both.

"What is that, over there?" Joanne suddenly asked, pointing down the road.

Frowning, he looked where she indicated. Here was another puzzle piece to figure out. Further down the road was what looked like a tunnel entrance built into the mountains. Would _that_ take them to the village, or further away from it?

"Don't know," he said. "Nobody said nothin' 'bout..."

Quite suddenly, he received a sharp warning through his connection to Moke, and went on the alert.

"Aw, fuck," he breathed. He didn't need Moke's image of Trolls boiling out of the settlement, armed for battle. He was looking right at it. "Come on!" he roared, grabbing Joanne's wrist and hurtling down the road toward the tunnel.

They must have been spotted from the walls, he reasoned. This pretty much answered the question of whether these were friendly Trolls or not.

The tunnel was clearly unnatural, made by skilled artisans. It was also so long they couldn't see the exit upon entering. Less than a hundred paces in, the echoing war cries of the pursuing Trolls joined their desperate panting. Moke soared ahead of them, reassuring Fentulk at least that there was no massive force of anything awaiting them at the other end.

Adrenaline barely kept Fentulk on his feet, and was not sufficient to make him oblivious to the pain. He'd been healed of several breaks to his legs by magic, but magic couldn't completely remove the long-term affects of what was done to his body. He ached in so many places he couldn't begin to count them all _before_ he started running for his life. Now he feared any moment would send him crashing to the earth, unable to move another inch.

One glance at Joanne's terrified face told him that was not an option.

She didn't know much about Trolls. They were sometimes brought to the tower for 'interrogation,' but seeing them there wasn't the same as knowing something about the race. What she'd been told was that they were cannibals. They sacrificed their enemies upon altars to their serpent gods and feasted on the flesh and blood. They smeared the gore of their kills on their bodies and fell upon one another in frenzied orgies. She'd hoped the village Fentulk would have taken her to contained more... civilized Trolls, if such a thing existed. Only her trust in him made her swallow the fears instilled in her at a young age by the wagging tongues of the men of SI:7, so eager to frighten a wide-eyed little girl.

Looking back over her shoulder, she saw every fear realized in more than a dozen leering faces, some wearing tribal masks, all garbed in leather decorated with gruesome trophies. A sob broke from her throat and she gripped Fentulk's hand more tightly.

Sunlight nearly blinded them after the long dimly-lit tunnel, and for a moment Fentulk wasn't sure what he was seeing. It was a hilly landscape, rolling away in all directions. Here and there were tufts of bushes. Tall, winsome flowers carpeted the grass, swaying gently in a light breeze.

Directly in front of them was the ruined hulk of a siege engine.

Even to his untrained eye, he could tell it was a catapult at one time. Now it was a heap of thick timbers, its wheels mired in the ground. Near it stood another in a similar state, and yet another. Slowing to a halt, he looked at them in confusion. They were pointed _at_ the tunnel.

"Wonder what...?" he began, and Joanne yanked hard on his arm.

"They're coming!" she cried, and he shook himself. Picking a direction, Fentulk started running again.

Moke's images were choppy and difficult to assess in the Orc's current state of mind. Ahead was a deep depression and there were people in it. That's as far as his attention went. Aiming for it, he poured on an extra burst of speed.

The 'depression' was more like a deep pit, with gently sloping tracks leading in and out at both ends. Fentulk and Joanne hit it from the side, however, and nearly killed themselves in the suddenly steep descent. Tumbling head over heels down the side, they came to rest at the feet of several surprised members of an Alliance military force.

"What in the name of..." a man who was clearly an officer roared, only to be cut off by the shocking sight of fifteen bellowing Troll warriors flowing over the rim of the defile.

A nearly naked Orc and hysterical human woman falling into their midst were not sufficient to stir the camp to battle readiness, but a frothing warband of Trolls was a different matter.

"Take those two into custody," the officer ordered, pointing at the shaken and bruised Fentulk and Joanne. "The rest of you, to battle!"


	12. Never Expect the Unexpected

Gilveradin Sunchaser glanced up with mild interest when the four men entered the camp. Their bearing was confident and in control. He was immediately on his guard.

"What can I do for you?" he asked calmly, rising to his feet. He didn't even spare a glance at Shindigger; he knew Rhapsody was well aware of the threat that just walked up on them.

"Just looking for information, friend," Derek said in anything but a friendly way. His sneer wasn't particularly friendly, either. Gil narrowed his eyes.

"Make yourselves comfortable," the High Elf said mildly. "I'm sure we have enough brew to go around. My friend here has a cask that might be ready to open by now."

"Not looking for booze, _Elf_ ," Derek sneered. "Your friend here can't speak for himself?"

"He only engages in conversation with fellow epicureans of fermented delights," Gil replied loftily, pleased that the ruffian from the tower seemed ill-equipped to handle a multi-syllabic statement.

"Shut yer yap," he growled. Turning to the Dwarf, he said, "Saw an Orc down here last night. Know anything about him?"

"Stole my pants," Shindigger muttered blearily.

"Stole... the Orc stole your _pants_?" Derek asked, wrongfooted by the unexpected declaration. It didn't appear that the inebriated man was missing any such item.

"No, yuh dimwit," the Dwarf flared. " _That_ prancing deviant stole my pants! Then he _gave_ them to the Orc! In _shreds_ , I might add!"

"Come now, be charitable," Gil admonished. "The poor bastard was practically naked." In an aside to Derek, he stage-whispered, "Not much better after what I had to do to that drunkard's drawers to get him into them."

"Get away from me," Derek growled, stepping back. Fixing the Elf with a hostile glare for a moment, he once more addressed the Dwarf. "He say anything to you?"

"What the hell would he say to _me_?" Shindigger roared, still upset about the pants, apparently. _"I'm_ not Horde. He talked to Gil over there, always so damn friendly. The lady talked to me. _And_ , I'd like to say, you dumb fucks oughta be ashamed of yerselves!"

The fat Dwarf rose to his feet and put his huge fists to his waist like a father scolding his sons. Derek could barely keep from laughing. He glanced back and saw that his two men, Andrew and Ben, were grinning on either side of him, but Amarn... where the hell was Amarn?

"I saw what you did to that boy!" Shindigger barked. "Like there isn't enough hate between the Alliance and the Horde, you gotta go and sow some more of it. Oughta take you over my knee, you rotten cur!"

Derek suddenly realized that the formerly wobbly, swaying Dwarf was standing straight and steadily, eyes sharp and speech clear. Glancing at the High Elf, he saw no signs of drunkenness in him, either.

"Right," he smirked. "This is all just an act, right? Make people think you're a couple of bums getting plowed in the mountains, but you're really..."

He didn't get to finish. Rhapsody Shindigger, who'd heard enough about what went on in that 'secret' tower of SI:7's, silenced the taller man with an uppercut that also sent Derek flat on his back. The first man to recover from the shocking attack pulled a sword and lunged at the Dwarf, only to find his chest caved in with a Dwarven warhammer. The second man backed up to draw his own sword from a safer distance. Derek struggled to stand.

"Giving the Alliance a bad name!" the Dwarf roared, advancing on the trembling swordsman.

"Permission to join in and kick their asses, Rhapsody?" Gilveradin called cheerfully.

"Granted, yuh sod," Shindigger snapped.

"Kiss the ground!"

Rhapsody Shindigger threw himself face down.

A fireball roughly four feet wide roared across the camp, warming the Dwarf's backside as it passed, and exploded right where Derek was just getting his legs under him. The man was thrown ten feet to land in a singed pile at the edge of the camp.

The swordsman reluctantly tried to attack Gil, but was thwarted by a thick hand darting out and grabbing his ankle, sending him sprawling. Rhapsody stood and gave the man a kick in the kidneys for good measure.

"Now get the hell out of our camp and mind your own affairs!"

The two survivors limped away. Derek tried applying bandages one-handed to his seared flesh, swearing under his breath as they descended the trail down to the valley.

"Could've told you," Amarn said suddenly, coalescing into view on a rock they were approaching.

"Where the fuck were you?" Derek roared. "Ben's _dead_. What were you doing? Buffing your nails?"

Amarn lifted a trim eyebrow. "Those two aren't involved. Never have been. They've had a camp here for years."

Fuming, Derek snarled, "Why didn't you _say_ so?"

Grinning, the mage just shrugged.

"Asshole."

Their troubles were only beginning. Once on the road, Derek asked Amarn about the spell.

"You still got a bead on her?"

"Indeed," the mage replied. "They are nearly a mile ahead. We gave them a decent head start _before_ you idiots saw fit to harass Rhapsody Shindigger."

"Shut the fuck up," Derek growled. "All right, which direction?"

Amarn gave him a withering look. " _East_. You don't think they went to Aerie Peak to partake of Dwarven hospitality, do you?"

"Just making sure," he muttered sourly. "Let's go."

The Trolls of Shadra'alor didn't much like encroachment on their territory. Whenever they saw anyone wandering within sight of their walls, a warband was dispatched to attend to the offense, and several small parties ranged out to re-assert their claim in the area.

One such group caught wind of the SI:7 men and fell upon them with extreme prejudice.

Derek was rather grateful that the sudden appearance of half a dozen angry Trolls was met with Amarn in attendance and fully engaged. He really wasn't surprised by the previous disappearance; it was the way the mage was wired. If you were determined to fuck up, he'd stand back and watch you do it. Probably how he got his jollies.

Several violent explosions coupled with Derek's and Andrew's swinging swords managed to finish off the first group, but they were in for a time of it. Not ten minutes later, a second group found them, then a third. Progress was slowed to a crawl, allowing their quarry to get further ahead.

Amarn wasn't worried. This was simply a minor inconvenience. He had a lock on Joanne's attunement spell and knew exactly where she was.

In the middle of the Arathi Highlands.

* * *

Field Marshall Oslight wasn't quite sure what to make of his guests. The woman clung desperately to the Orc, weeping hysterically when Sergeant Maclear tried to separate them. The Orc... honestly, Oslight had never seen anyone so badly injured and still able to walk. Cuts and bruises, burns and bite marks pocked his brown skin from head to toe. The way he carried himself when led away from the skirmish by guards bespoke worse internal damage than the relatively short spill he'd just taken should have inflicted.

And the woman's words, repeated over and over: 'Don't hurt him, _please_. He has suffered enough. For the love of the Light, _don't hurt him_.'

Looking down at the Orc now as he sat on the ground, leaning against a crate, Oslight hardly knew where to begin, what questions to ask. Glancing aside, he saw Maclear offering a handkerchief to the distraught woman a discreet thirty feet away.

The Orc appeared done in. Completely defeated. As if his entire world just ended. Oslight had seen that look years before, and it furrowed his brow now.

At a loss, he said, "What happened to you?"

Fentulk couldn't raise his head. He had never been driven so hard or so far, but he knew he was past his endurance. He could feel it in the way his muscles twitched and spasmed. He knew it in the way his eyes filled with hopeless tears.

It was over. He'd never see his home again. He'd likely never set eyes on Joanne again, either. They'd take her away, send her back because of her contract, then they'd kill him. Or worse, send _him_ back to the tower as well, where death was kept at bay regardless of how desperately he might beg for it.

He couldn't fight them, not to protect _her_ , not to protect himself. They took his feeble sword away. All he could do was command Moke to keep his distance, stay out of bowshot. Likely wouldn't ever see the windrock he'd raised from a chick again, either.

Swallowing a hard lump forming in his throat, he tried to put on a brave face. Probably unsuccessfully. They wouldn't care, really. This man, whoever he was, would just not care. No point in telling the whole story, because he _would not care_.

But Fentulk couldn't lie.

"Was... captured by the Alliance," he rasped brokenly. "Thought I was a spy."

Oslight's eyes narrowed, once more flicking over the Orc's tortured flesh. "Are you?"

A sob broke from Fentulk's throat, and he covered his eyes with one hand as his shoulders shook with despair. He'd answered that question so many times, and no one ever believed him. They just beat him harder, as if that would change his answer. The only one who believed him was Joanne.

Unable to speak, he shook his head, not expecting it to make any difference now, when it hadn't before.

As a soldier, Oslight had seen many things in his career. He'd personally questioned suspected spies; some were Orcs from Hammerfall, others were Forsaken from the Defilers' ranks. One thing in which he'd always prided himself was his ability to read a person. It was rather a sixth sense, of knowing when he was being lied to. Part of that sense was in knowing when his enemy still believed himself at some advantage. Perhaps harboring some extra bit of information that would lead to Oslight's demise or the spy's rescue. A glint in the eye, a tiny smirk. Some telltale sign.

He saw nothing of the sort in this Orc. The man was broken. Utterly shattered. And telling the truth.

"What part does the woman play in this?" Oslight asked when the Orc mastered himself once more.

Taking a shuddering breath, Fentulk replied, "She helped me escape, and I helped her."

Oslight frowned. "You helped... _her_? What do you mean?"

"She was... a servant," the Orc said. "Little better'n a slave."

"So you helped _her_ escape?" the Marshall pressed. Fentulk nodded. Weighing this information, Oslight said quietly, "All right. Don't go anywhere."

A gruff, bitter chuckle shook the Orc for a moment. He was surrounded by guards, at the bottom of a deep, well-defended depression. Where could he possibly go?

To Fentulk's utter shock, the man leaned over and firmly patted his shoulder before walking away to consult with his Sergeant.

"What did you learn?" Oslight asked in a low voice. Maclear's troubled expression was concerning.

"She's... uh...," the Sergeant began uncertainly. "Sir, she's terribly concerned about the Orc. I could get almost nothing out of her but pleading on his behalf." Shifting on her feet uncomfortably, Maclear went on, "She's afraid we'll hurt him. She said he's been tortured for weeks."

"Looks like he has, yes," Oslight agreed, glancing at the Orc for a moment. "He wouldn't even say that much, though. Did she say who captured him? Who abused him?"

The Sergeant's face contorted in a scowl. Lip curled, she snarled, "SI:7."

Oslight blinked in shock. "He didn't tell me that."

"He probably didn't think you'd care," Maclear said. "Since he's Horde. She said they're always rougher on the Horde." She looked over at the Orc herself and grimaced. "I remember the camps," she murmured.

Nodding, the Marshall said, "As do I. It's not been so many years that those memories have faded. They were _here_ , and in Hillsbrad. They built Hammerfall on the ruins of the biggest." A hard look stole over his face. "I never agreed with it."

Maclear shook her head. "I didn't either, sir."

Sighing, Oslight said, "What is your recommendation?"

Memories of the listless inmates in the internment camps drifted through her mind. The abuses they suffered, the families torn asunder, little to no shelter, some camps erected in fetid swamps, the defeated Orcs fed scraps a dog would refuse, men shackled and whipped for the smallest offenses, women assaulted... Maclear winced and bowed her head. Had the Orcs deserved such treatment? Was the Alliance justified in rounding them up, even those who hadn't been engaged in warfare, and locking them in cages? She'd never believed so.

And there was another matter here that drove her resolve.

"Let them go," she replied firmly. "Both of them."

Oslight raised an eyebrow. "Both?"

"Yes sir," she said with even stronger conviction. "She is committed to him. It is the only humane thing to do."

Oslight nodded in agreement. He'd suspected as much, simply by the terrified worry in the woman's eyes when they took the Orc in hand. "Call the priests. They need seeing to."

"Yes sir," she replied, saluting and hurrying to fetch the healers.

Returning to the Orc, Oslight appraised him for a moment. "What is your name?"

"Fentulk," the Orc replied dully.

"Where are you bound, Fentulk?"

The mild tone of the Marshall's voice made him look up. "Home. Just... wanna go home." The word alone tore another sob from Fentulk's throat, and he bowed his head again.

"I've no doubt you'll get there," Oslight said gruffly. His mouth formed a grim line. "We'll see you on your way."

Blinking back tears, Fentulk raised his eyes to the Marshall's. "What?"

Before Oslight could respond, a young woman from the healers walked up with a bulging pack of supplies. Oslight nodded to her and stepped aside as she knelt beside the Orc and began tending his many hurts.

Fentulk could barely breathe. Instead of chains, he was being healed. The cool relief of healing magic seeped through his aching body, pouring over him in a gentle wave. Looking over where Joanne was, he saw another priest treating her injuries as well.

Sergeant Maclear took it upon herself to deal with the tradesmen who'd set up their traveling wagons full of miscellaneous goods, bargaining for the largest clothing they could provide. Not being suppliers to the Horde in general or Orcs in particular, they had a difficult time securing an outfit that would fit him. A fellow soldier handy with a sewing needle was employed to adjust the cut for the bulky Orc.

When she presented the breeches and tunic to Fentulk an hour later, he wept openly, barely able to choke out a grateful thank you. Joanne was likewise provided with a change of clothes, and was similarly speechless.

Once the healing process was as complete as it could be, for only time and rest would fully restore the Orc's body, he and Joanne were reunited. She practically fell into his arms, and they embraced gratefully for several minutes. Made slightly uncomfortable by the obvious affection, Oslight looked away awkwardly, but Maclear watched, her suspicions of the woman's feelings confirmed.

For Fentulk, the fact that she was in his arms at all was a miracle he'd never imagined. Looking past Joanne, he said shakily to Oslight, "Can't tell yuh what this means. Got no way to repay yuh for it."

Oslight waved a hand and snorted dismissively, then said seriously, "I hope for you it means that the Alliance is not entirely peopled by barbarians."

"I never thought that."

"That is good," Oslight replied. "It seems this woman wants to stay with you."

Unsure, Fentulk stiffened slightly. "You gonna let'er?"

A slight smile curved the Marshall's mouth. "Thanks to you, she is a free woman. She can make her own choices. I'll not stand in the way."

Hearing his words, Joanne turned in Fentulk's embrace, reluctant to let go, and smiled tearfully. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

"Yeah," Fentulk nodded, feeling his raw emotions bubbling up again and swallowing hard to control them, "thank you. _Thank you_."

Clearing his throat, Oslight huffed a bit and turned southward, pointing up the slope leading out of the encampment. "What you'll want to do is head up this hill and follow the path straight south. You will come to a crossroads with a sign pointing east to Hammerfall. Follow the road to another crossroads, where the sign will direct you northeast. That road will take you to the Horde fortress. In your condition, I would say it will take you a day and a half."

Turning back to Fentulk, he said sternly, "You will need to protect her from your own people, very likely."

Standing straight and proud in spite of the stiffness and aching still present in his limbs, the Orc replied, "With my life."

Oslight nodded, satisfied. "I expected no less. I've always admired your people's sense of honor. When an Orc gives his word, he stands by it."

"I do," Fentulk said, his voice stronger.

"All right then," the Marshall said, then handed the Orc a heavy pack. "Here. There are enough rations to get your there, plus a bit extra. The sword you had was rather worthless. I judge by the extremely agitated windrock that has been circling above for hours that you are a hunter. A gun would suit you better, eh?"

Fentulk didn't know quite what to say, and his grip slipped again. Shaking his head, he said, "That's too much. I can't take a gun, sir. The sword's all right. I'll get by."

Oslight shook his head firmly. "No, you'll take the gun. There are spiders as big as a cart horse and raptors too smart for their own good roaming the hills. I'll not send you out there armed with a butter knife." Weighing his words carefully, he said, "Miss Joanne here may have thrown her lot in with you, but she's still a member of the Alliance. I would be remiss if I did not ensure her safety in these lands." He gave Fentulk an understanding look. "You take care of her, now."

"I will," Fentulk replied, accepting the gun and the pack.

Oslight once more firmly patted the Orc's thick shoulder, and watched them make their slow way up the hill. Maclear stood beside him.

"She loves him," she commented in a low voice.

"And he, her." The Marshall took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I hope 'home' for him isn't Orgrimmar. I don't think his Warchief will accept them."

"They obviously can't go to Stormwind," the Sergeant growled. "Even if SI:7 _wasn't_ involved, Wrynn would throw him in the stockade for... being an _Orc_."

"Mind yourself," Oslight warned in an undertone. "We of Stromgarde don't have to agree with everything the king says, but he's still our king."

"Yes, sir," she said stiffly.

* * *

True to the Marshall's word, an hour of steady hiking brought Fentulk and Joanne to a crossroads with a weathered old sign pointing to Hammerfall. _This_ was the sort of straightforward directions they'd lacked in the Hinterlands.

"Do you feel all right?" Joanne said, finally breaking the silence that had lasted since leaving Refuge Pointe.

"A lot better," he replied. "A bit sore, but better. You?"

"I am fine," she said. "How I must have shocked them when I..." She closed her eyes tightly, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I hope I did not offend you..."

"Joanne," he said gruffly, resting his hands on her small shoulders, "they let us go. What's more, they let _you_ go _with_ me. If you... comin' to me like that... had anything to do with it, I ain't offended." He struggled to swallow another rush of strong feelings. Every emotion was raw and refused to be put in check, it seemed. He'd never been so completely beaten down. "Wouldn't be offended anyway. Told yuh... remember? When you set me free. Told yuh I... I was in love with yuh." He fought hard to make himself say it now. He'd come so close to never having another chance. "I think I am."

Joanne reached up and gently touched his cheek. "When we are in Nagrand, and all of this is behind us, if you can still say such words, perhaps I will be able to say them also."

"Don't think where I'm standin's gonna change what I feel," he growled, letting his hands fall to his sides. "But yer probably right."

"I do not doubt you speak your heart, Fentulk," she said softly, stroking his face. _"My_ heart is not so easily read."

Nodding, he took her hand and led her east down the road.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set when their weary feet demanded a rest. The good people of the League of Arathor had done their best to clothe him, but shoes large enough for his feet couldn't be found among the tradesmen. Still barefoot, and now traveling a road accustomed to wagons and horses, he felt every rock like a dagger driven into his flesh.

The Marshall had not been mistaken regarding the wildlife in the region, either. The well-traveled road was relatively safe from migrating raptors and hunting spiders, but at night they might not be so lucky. Moke kept a vigilant watch in the sky above; he would likely get little rest himself tonight.

Along the road, they found a series of stoney outcroppings. Assessing them as potential shelter, Fentulk sought out a suitable hollow for their rest in the fading light.

"This'll do," he finally said. It was a fissure in the rock wall that would likely keep most predators from reaching them. Assuming Fentulk could squeeze inside.

It was tight, but he'd been virtually starved for weeks. A month ago, he wouldn't have fit.

Sitting together in the narrow space, they shared venison jerky and Dwarven mild cheese. Fentulk could think of no meal more welcome than this one.

Except perhaps the fresh bread Joanne brought him in his cell. He could still remember how sweet it tasted before Derek drove it forcibly back out of him.

Growing drowsy from the food and feeling safe for the first time in weeks, neither of them spoke a word about it. Joanne all but melted against him, and he wrapped her in his arms, so naturally and easily that there was no need for speech. This was what he'd been looking for, what he'd hoped to find. Sighing with contentment, he let his cheek rest on the top of her head and closed his eyes.

_***Where the **hell** are you?***_

Fentulk jolted upright, startling Joanne into fearful alertness.

"What is it?" she asked, eyes darting about.

"Kora," he breathed, feeling inexplicable dread.

The way he said the name made Joanne even more nervous. "Who is Kora?"

"That... 'friend' of mine we was supposed to meet," he explained. Wincing, he muttered. "She's gonna be pissed. Hang on a sec." Grudgingly, he settled back and closed his eyes, feeling for the connection with the Orc woman.

_***Runnin' late Kora, sorry.***_

_***It doesn't take that long to traverse the Hinterlands. Where are you?***_

_***About half a day outside of Refuge Pointe.***_

_..._

_*** **Where?** That isn't even **in** the Hinterlands! How the hell did you get into the Arathi Highlands?***_

_***We got chased by Trolls through a tunnel in the mountains and came out here. It don't matter. We're on our way to Hammerfall. Should get there tomorrow. Can yuh meet us there?***_

_*** **Fine.** By the ancestors, you are **insanely** stupid. **Simple instructions** , and you **couldn't follow them**.***_

_***You didn't tell me there was a great fucking Troll village that close to Aerie Peak! Yuh didn't tell me the road don't go straight east! Yuh didn't tell me to do **nothin'** but go straight east! We couldn't **go** straight fucking **east**!***_

_***I never **said** , go straight east! I said **head** east. Of **course** , you would have to account for Troll villages on your way.***_

_***Never mind. Never **fucking** mind. We're on our way to Hammerfall. Please just... meet us there. I wanna go home, Kora. I... I'm done. I just wanna go home. Please.***_

_..._

_***Very well. I will take a flight over in the morning, but you had better **be there**. I will not be pleased if I have to travel up and down the coast trying to find you!***_

_***Thank you.***_

_***Yes. You **should**.***_

The connection severed abruptly, and Fentulk sagged, rubbing his face. "Fucking bitch," he muttered.

Joanne flinched at his tone. "Is... is she coming?"

"Yeah," he snarled. "And she's gonna make me suffer for it."

"You can hardly be blamed," she said defensively. "If she is your friend, should she not do whatever it takes to help you?"

"I ain't had many friends," he said wearily, "but yeah, a friend would do that. Kora... ain't much of a friend, but she's all I got."

Sighing, Joanne rested her small hand on his heart. "You have me, Fentulk."

He covered her hand with his, a slight smile on his face. "Yeah. I do. Don't think I ain't grateful for that." Cheeks darkening, he ducked his head. "And... you know... yuh got me. If... you want."

"I think I just might, Fentulk," she whispered, then settled once more in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he let himself relax. Moke was on the watch above, and the cricket song was soothing. Yet once more, a voice invaded his thoughts, but this was a memory, not an outside intrusion.

_Women can be real weird about these things. You may think she don't want ya, not now, but wait til she sees ya with another woman. Then it'll get... innerestin'._

Could that be why Kora was so much more belligerant and cruel than he remembered? Was she jealous? She _had_ offered herself to him, and he'd rejected her. Fentulk scoffed at the idea. More like she was offended by Fentulk's preference of a human over an Orc woman. Over her in particular, perhaps.

Now that he thought about it, Kora was rather power-hungry, and Fentulk had never been a man she could control.


	13. And Never Tell Anyone About the Other Woman

A light rain falling outside their cozy hollow the following morning was no incentive to emerge and continue on their way. Fentulk watched the rain with a slight smile on his face. His first task upon reaching his home, he vowed, was to make an appropriate offering to the ancestors for this wonderful gift.

He realized as he gazed down at her sleeping face, resting upon his shoulder, that he couldn't imagine a more perfect woman for him. It wasn't something he felt he could do justice to with mere words. Simply put, Joanne was a treasure worth fighting for.

Fighting would likely ensue once they reached Hammerfall. The Orcs he'd met on this side of the ocean could be rigidly warlike or willing to negotiate; it all depended on which Warchief they favored. There were many who remembered being freed by Thrall, not only from imprisonment by humans, but the demonic taint that drove so many of their people through the Dark Portal to conquer Azeroth. Thrall, Orgrim Doomhammer, and Grom Hellscream, every inch saviors of the Orcs in this world.

With two dead and the third fighting to save Azeroth from a fate not unlike that which befell Draenor, that left the Horde in the hands of Garrosh Hellscream, son of Grom. Untouched by the Burning Legion he might be, but Garrosh had his own demons to face, and he was not like his father. The folk of the Horde were only just beginning to realize that.

Fentulk hadn't paid much mind to politics during his brief visits to Orgrimmar. Most of his time here had been spent aboard ship, as far from factional concerns as he could get. He well remembered Thrall stepping down to join the Earthen Ring in their efforts to prevent further damage to Azeroth in Deathwing's wake, though, and still frowned over who was selected to replace him.

Thrall, who had befriended Jaina Proudmore and worked with the human mage to keep at least a modicum of peace in Kalimdor, would likely have been sympathetic to Fentulk's feelings for Joanne. Garrosh, the hero of Northrend, a soldier first and a man second, wouldn't be. So it would depend entirely on which Warchief held the strongest support on this side of the world, whether Joanne would be left alone, or taken from him and... He didn't even want to think about what they might do.

"It is so peaceful here," Joanne murmured sleepily, and Fentulk brushed his lips lightly on her forehead.

"Ain't gonna lie to yuh," he murmured, breathing in her scent. "Might get a bit dicey at Hammerfall. Best you stick close to me. It'll likely be a lot of talk in Orcish. Lot of _loud_ talk."

She smiled wanly, trying to put on a brave face. Fentulk's heart surged for a moment; she might believe she was hiding her weakness from him, but he knew she was strong. Would he have loved her this much if she wasn't? Likely not. He'd wanted a strong woman, one to challenge him. He was an Orc, after all. Orc women were not to be trifled with. His own mother held his father by the privates, in a manner of speaking, and the man dared not cross her on certain matters. Perhaps Joanne wasn't quite so fierce, but... was that required? Did Fentulk want to be constantly at odds, or did he want peace? He knew the answer to that, especially now, as bone tired as he was. Could he have found it with an _Orc_ woman, though? Was it entirely a matter of race?

The thought was a troubling one, after the last few days where such questions seemed to be at the forefront of everyone else's thoughts. Perhaps he'd examine it another time; right now, the sun was rising.

Sighing reluctantly, he helped her up and together they squeezed through the narrow crack. The rain had already stopped, leaving a sparkling dew on the grass as the sun began its ascent over the mountains. Orienting himself with Moke's assistance, Fentulk led the way northeast along the dirt road.

* * *

The warmth and comfort Joanne had felt in Fentulk's arms last night seemed to drain from her like water through a sieve as she stared at the wooden walls of Hammerfall. Though still a fair distance off, it loomed like a patient beast, awaiting the arrival of its meal. Swallowing the fear and walking with some measure of dignity were very difficult, regardless that she accompanied such a large and imposing Orc.

Joanne really had little to compare him to. The Orcs brought into the tower were green; Fentulk was the first brown-skinned Orc she'd ever seen. While Fentulk was indeed tall, he wasn't as muscular as the green ones. He was quite a bit leaner, even when he was first brought in, before they began to starve him. Still, he had a quiet strength about him that inspired reassurance.

As they drew closer, there seemed to be movement on the battlements. Fentulk noted the flurry and imposed himself between Joanne and the fortress. There was no question in his mind on the matter; if they began firing arrows, he'd shield her with his body, but he would not raise his gun against his own people unless they gave him no other choice.

Several guards trotted up to them as they approached, swords and battleaxes at the ready. Fentulk unslung the Field Marshall's rifle from his back and held it up for the Orcs to see.

"Stop where you are!" one called gruffly. A green-skinned Orc with far broader shoulders than Fentulk's approached. "What've we got here, eh?" he barked in Orcish as he halted a few feet from the bedraggled pair.

Swallowing and clearing his throat, Fentulk said, "We're... meetin' a friend here. Please. We won't be no trouble, I swear it."

The Orc leader frowned as he looked Joanne over. The woman cringed beside Fentulk, hanging onto his arm and chewing on her lip to keep from crying. It was obvious she had no idea what was being said.

"What's she for?" the Orc growled.

Startled, Fentulk hesitated. He wasn't quite sure what was being asked. "She... ain't for... whattayou mean?"

"She a spy, a slave, a fuck toy, what?" the Orc asked bluntly. "Gotta admit, she don't look like a spy."

"She ain't a spy or... any of that," Fentulk said with embarrassment. "She's a friend. We... I was captured by the Alliance and she helped me escape. They weren't so good to her, neither, so she came with me."

The Orc's brow furrowed angrily. "You got any idea what this place is, brown-skin? What it _was_?" Fentulk shook his head, confused. "I'll tell yuh. This used to be one'uh them internment camps folks like _her_ jammed us into. Lost my wife _and_ son here. So don't you think for one fucking second that I'm gonna let you march one'uh _her_ kind through my gates! If she comes in, it's to the good doctor she goes. I'm sure _he'd_ find a use for her." Spitting on the ground, he gestured to one of the guards, who saluted and ran back into the fortress.

Fentulk had no idea who this doctor was, but he had a feeling they weren't introducing him to Joanne out of kindness.

"All right," he said reasonably, "we won't come in. That's fine. But can you check if my friend's come yet? Orc woman named Kora. She'll be flying over from Revantusk some time today."

"Oh, now I gotta go run messages for yuh, eh?" the Orc snarled sarcastically.

"I didn't mean..."

"By the Light, no...," Joanne sobbed, and sought to put herself behind Fentulk and out of sight.

Looking past the Orc, Fentulk's eyes widened. The guard was returning with a Forsaken man, his stride a slouching limp. The undead man's face was the pallid color of his kind, eyes glowing orangish yellow. Wisps of dun-colored hair sprouted from his head and fell in all directions, and his lower jaw appeared to be reinforced with steel. His clothes were ragged, exposing the bone of his skinless elbows and knees. Even the ends of his boots were cut off to let his claw-like boney toes stick out.

Ahead of his arrival, a putrid stench seemed to drift lazily on the morning breeze and envelope them.

The Orc leader chuckled snidely at her reaction.

"What do you require, Commander Gor'mul?" Doctor Gregory Victor rasped.

"Might have a little gift for you," Gor'mul replied, nodding toward Fentulk. The Forsaken man raised an eyebrow. "Not _him_. _Her_. Cowering behind him like the dog she is."

"Take that back!" Fentulk suddenly roared, raising his fists and advancing on the commander.

By the look of him, Fentulk had seemed not to have any fight left. Pleasantly surprised, Gor'mul grinned. "Come'n get some, brown-skin."

As the two Orcs rounded on each other, a guard from the walls suddenly shouted, "Warband approaching!"

"We'll finish this inside," Gor'mul growled, then directed Fentulk, Joanne and Doctor Victor through the gates. Half a dozen guards joined the few who'd come out with Gor'mul to greet the visitors. They were more than a match for the half dozen Trolls roaring up the road.

Though they were safely behind the walls, and the defense was obviously too disciplined to falter against the assault from the Witherbark tribe, Joanne felt almost no relief. The undead man kept looking at her, _hungrily_ she was sure.

"What is happening?" she whispered to Fentulk, though she suspected the Orcs here knew as little of her language as she did of theirs.

"Don't know," Fentulk replied in an undertone. "That one there, Gor'mul, is bein'... difficult."

"And... the... _him_?" she said hesitantly, pointing at Doctor Victor.

"Won't let him near yuh, I promise," he replied firmly.

Joanne wasn't entirely reassured.

"Now," Gor'mul said, turning to Fentulk and rolling up his sleeves, "you got a little somethin' to say to me?"

Fentulk straightened to his full height, which was a few inches more than Gor'mul had. One arm firmly and defiantly around Joanne's shoulders, he snarled, "Don't want no trouble. _She_ ain't done _nothin'_ to the Horde but feed'em and heal'em in that place. You got a problem with the Alliance, you take it up with them and leave her alone."

"I don't want human filth dirtying up my base or leaving its stain on the place where Doomhammer _fell_!" Gor'mul roared, advancing with his chest thrust out. Fentulk maneuvered Joanne behind him, but kept a hold of her hand, as he matched the oncoming threat with a puffed torso of his own. Taking a step forward, Fentulk made sure he hit Gor'mul's chest first.

"Yer forgettin' who's _Warchief_ , Gor'mul!" Fentulk barked.

"Is it _you_ now?" the commander snarled. "Think cause you got the same color skin, you run the Horde? That how it is back in Orgrimmar these days? Ain't bad enough, losin' Thrall to that sorry excuse, now we gotta be fuckin' nice to anybody that _looks_ like him?"

Satisfied, Fentulk backed down, a slight smirk on his face. "That's what I thought."

Gor'mul narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What?"

"Warchief's still Thrall here, ain't he?" Fentulk replied quietly.

The commander ground his jaw and fumed. His tightly drawn skin twitched around his eyes. "What're you playin' at?"

Fentulk leaned forward and said, "Thrall was the better man. We both know it. You think he'd reward you for turnin' this woman over to the Forsaken? You think he'd promote you for cuttin' her throat? She ain't raised a sword against us. _Any_ of us. She helped me get outta there. Seems to me a human woman helped Thrall get outta _his_ prison too. You gonna dishonor _her_ name by murdering _this_ one?"

Gor'mul flinched and looked away. It was galling in the extreme, but this Orc was right. Maybe it was against the commander's personal wishes and deepest desires, but it was also against what Thrall would have counseled. In the end, _that_ 's where Hammerfall stood.

"All right," Gor'mul growled in defeat. "When's this friend'uh yours..."

"Fentulk, darling!"

Turning, the commander saw an Orc woman descending the stairs from the flight master's deck, a radiant smile on her face. He raised an eyebrow; she certainly was a handsome woman. Her dark red hair was pulled back and braided in a long tail that reached below her buttocks. Her mage's robes bespoke wealth as well as skill in their fine making.

He missed entirely Fentulk's instinctive flinch upon hearing the woman's voice.

"Kora," Fentulk said with relief in spite of everything. He was moments from leaving this place, this _world_. He didn't even mind when she took hold of his shoulders and kissed the air on either side of his face. "This is Joanne," he said, stepping aside.

The Orc woman smiled sweetly at Fentulk, then looked at Joanne.

"We are so _grateful_...," the woman began, then faltered as a sneer curled Kora's lip.

"Oh, Fentulk, I must say," Kora said breathily, and in Common to ensure Joanne understood every word, "though humans all look rather alike to me, there is no denying that _this_ little one bears a _striking_ resemblance to your _other_ whore, whom I met in Orgrimmar not three days ago."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:
> 
> Kora encounters Karie in Orgrimmar in chapter 31


	14. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Fentulk's slack-jawed expression nearly assured Joanne that the woman had falsely accused him. When he rallied, however, the Orc only sank deeper in the mire Kora pushed him into.

"She ain't a _whore_ , dammit!" he barked defensively. "Karie's a good woman!"

Smirking indulgently, Kora replied, "Of course she is." Turning to look at Joanne's stricken face, she barely hid her glee. "Don't worry, dear. I'm sure this... 'good woman' won't mind sharing him." Plastering an innocent expression on her own face, Kora asked Fentulk, "She doesn't _mind_ sharing, does she? No hard feelings expected?" Then she chuckled at her own joke. "Well, _she_ won't be feeling very hard, but perhaps _you_..."

"Kora, what the fuck are you doing?" Fentulk roared. His eyes darted between Kora and Joanne... gods help him, Joanne looked close to fainting. "Joanne, it ain't... Karie's not... please believe me, I..."

"Oh now, don't be modest, Fentulk darling," Kora interjected, her voice syrupy sweet. "I'm certain you can handle more than one, strong, virile man that you are. All those years on the ship... my goodness, will two be _enough_?" She put her hand to her mouth and widened her eyes with mock concern.

Fentulk was shaking so hard he could barely speak. Never in all his days had he felt compelled to raise a hand against a woman, but today might be the end of that restraint. She had him completely by the balls; if he socked her a good one, if he insulted her in any way, his only means of getting home would be removed. He had no idea how to get to the Dark Portal from here, or how much Alliance-held territory he'd have to somehow sneak through in the process. He had no money and no friends...

Especially not now, if he was reading Joanne's devastated expression correctly.

"Joanne," he tried again, his voice unsteady with desperation, but she raised her hand to stop him.

Straightening with dignity, she said quietly, "Answer me, yes or no. Are you keeping a... do you have a wife?"

Swallowing hard, he shook his head. "No, I swear it. This is..."

" _Yes or no_ ," she snapped fiercely. "This... Karie. What is she to you?"

He didn't know what to say. No matter what he told her, a lie or the truth, Joanne would hate him for it. She'd been sheltered all her life from certain realities, specifically the kinds of relations men and women indulged. Fentulk was no expert himself, and knew he hadn't the words to not shoot himself in the foot.

But he couldn't look Joanne in the eyes and tell her an untruth.

Bowing his head, Fentulk stared at the ground, wishing it would swallow him up. "Karie ain't... she's... just a friend. Maybe... less'n that, cause I only knew her for a week."

"I see," Joanne said evenly. "When did you last see her?"

"Month ago, maybe. Look, Joanne, it's not..."

"Not what I think?" she finished for him, arching her eyebrows. Anger was the only defense she had at the moment, and it rose obligingly with every word. "How can you know what I think? Do you have any idea what I have sacrificed _for you_? I left the only... _world_ I've ever known! I can't go back there, not _now_. I am beginning to understand what Mister Dorath was telling me. You _did_ come into Alliance territory in search of a human 'mate' because _no other race would do_! What a fool I was to trust you! Am I to be one of many? Will there be another woman 'acquired' at some point?"

"No!" he barked angrily. "I don't _want_ nobody else! Just _you_!"

"It is not _me_ you want, but this _shell_ , this _body_!"

"That ain't true!" he protested, but she was on a tirade and wouldn't let him continue.

"Were I not a woman of compassion, had I not been moved by your suffering, would you have wooed me regardless, because of _what_ I am? Did you only need to see what I _look_ like?"

"Let me finish, woman!" Fentulk roared, and Joanne's mouth slammed shut. Damned if seeing her in full ire didn't inflame him! "I _thought_ that's what I wanted, but... the ancestors know you're more than that. _I_ know it. You got strength enough to stand for what you know is right. Fuck, you put the entire tower to sleep so you could get me out, and _that's all_. You could'uh killed'em all, but you ain't like that. Can't tell yuh what it meant to me, you not dippin' yer hands in their blood. Cause it's how _I_ think. We... we got that in common." Struggling with words, he grew more and more desperate to make her _see_... it wasn't her race. Perhaps that's what drove him in the beginning, but it wasn't what claimed him.

"Joanne, you... you were kind to me in that place," he said brokenly, and forced himself to look her in the eyes no matter how much distrust and betrayal he could see there. "You only knew me as an enemy, but... you were good to me. You made me fresh bread." He had to pause and master himself, for his voice cracked. "You talked to me. Every time yuh did that, I could manage another day. I couldn't see you, remember? You coulda been a gnome and I wouldn't've cared. Yuh got my heart long before I ever saw yer face."

She was faltering, he could tell. Somehow, his clumsy words seemed to be chipping away at her shield.

"Are you still with this Karie person?" Joanne asked awkwardly.

He shook his head. "It was only... with _her_ it wasn't... lasting. Just... loneliness, I guess. Thought I wanted someone like her." Glaring hotly at Kora, he snarled, "If you met her, you know damn well Joanne ain't like her. They don't even _look_ anything alike. Not even close."

It suddenly hit him as hard as a second blow to the groin, following on the heels of the first one Kora applied. He could barely form the words.

"Kora... did you say... you met her in _Orgrimmar_?"

The look of cruel enjoyment faded from the Orc woman's face. Even Gor'mul, one of the few in the fortress with a grasp of Common and barely keeping his own humor in check during the exchange, looked at her with surprise.

"Yes," she replied slowly, narrowing her eyes. "Why?"

" _Where_ , exactly, did you meet her?" Fentulk pressed.

The conversation had just shifted away from where she wanted it, but there didn't appear to be a way to steer it back at the moment. Grudgingly, Kora snapped, "The Broken Tusk. That tavern in the Valley of Strength."

Fentulk blinked, speechless for a moment. He glanced at Joanne, likewise bewildered by this change of direction, then he leaned toward Kora. "Yer tellin' me that Karie, a _human_ , was knockin' back beers a hundred paces from Grommash Hold?"

" _Yes_ ," Kora snarled through clenched teeth. "I fail to see the significance..."

"Fail to... woman, she's _human_!" Fentulk bellowed. "What the fuck was she doin' there? Besides samplin' the brew?"

"How the devil should _I_ know?" Kora bit back. "She was looking for a Troll, so she said. There was one with her, as well as a member of the Kor'kron Elite. It isn't as if she was wandering aimlessly without escort in the heart of Orgrimmar."

Elation flowed through Fentulk. Turning to Joanne joyously, he grabbed her arms and forced her to look at him. "Yuh see? The Warchief don't mind humans. It'd be okay if we went there. We got _choices_."

Joanne shifted her arms in his grip, and he immediately let go. She smoothed her dress calmly. "I do not have _any_ choices, Fentulk. I gave them up when I followed you from the tower. Go with you to Nagrand, or go with you to Orgrimmar. Those are not _choices_. They are _sentences._ "

The promise of happiness drained from him. "I thought you... cared for me."

His hitching voice softened her somewhat, and she closed her eyes for a moment. "I believed I did, but I am shaken by this... revelation. I have heard your words, but I am not certain I can trust you. I must consider..." Taking a shuddering breath, she extended her hands in supplication. "I have no recourse but to accompany you, Fentulk. If I return to the Alliance, they will honor the law and send me back to the tower. If I go with you... I... I do not know what will happen to me. My life... my _future_ is entirely in your hands. Either way, I am without any measure of control. You... or they, could abuse me if you wished. I would be helpless to defend myself in either case." Biting her lip to stop its trembling, she blinked tears from her eyes. "I believed in you."

"Yuh still can," he said softly, willing himself not to reach for her though his heart begged him to. "Ain't nobody made my heart beat and my soul sing... til I met you. If you... wanna go, I'll... I'll take yuh back to Refuge Pointe. They'll look after yuh, I'm sure. Yuh told'em about SI:7, and they still let us go. They'll probably see yuh safely away somewhere."

"You... would do that... for me?"

"Joanne, I would die for you," he rasped gruffly.

She had to bow her head to hide the spark of joy his words ignited. Masking it, she nodded, hugging herself. "I will... stay with you, Fentulk," she said softly. "I have no other choice. I do not think they would be willing to keep me there. Letting us go... they no longer needed to concern themselves about us. If I went back, they might have a different attitude."

Fentulk slowly dropped to one knee before her and gazed up at her face. "I swear to you, Joanne," he growled fiercely, "no matter what I feel, I won't... even try to... You don't owe me nothin', and I ain't gonna try and collect. You don't... gotta... love me back." He looked away and swallowed hard, pushing it away, shoving it down. If he broke apart here, in front of Gor'mul, in front of Kora...

"That man said an Orc stands by his word," she murmured. "I'll hold you to it."

He could only nod, then slowly rose. Turning to the Orc woman, he barely kept his voice even. "All right, Kora. Yuh had yer fun. Can yuh send us home now?"

* * *

Three pairs of eyes were trained on Hammerfall, peering out through a thick growth of bushes and trees on the side of the mountains skirting the eastern and northern corners of the walled fortress. One held a spyglass to his eye, a hand over the end to keep the sun from glinting off the lens and giving away their position.

"Lotta chest bumpin' goin' on down there," Derek muttered. "Didn't think the piece of shit had anything left."

"He's an Orc," Amarn pointed out witheringly. "They've always got a little something in reserve."

"Hmph. Well, our boy's backed down. Guess that's expected, eh?" Chuckling, he scanned the compound. "Ain't sure what... hold on, here comes someone else." He whistled low. "Orc woman. Wouldn't say no to _that_ piece of ass."

"Like'em green, do you?" Andrew grumbled. He was still trying to patch up his arm from last night's tussle with a group of raptors. Amarn had pinpointed their quarry's location, but in the rain-spattered darkness, they were unable to find her. They did, however, stumble upon a mating pair of raptors who were less than happy about the interruption, and called in nearby friends to teach the SI:7 men a thing or two about privacy.

They should have brought a healer, Andrew thought. A wad of bandages and a couple flasks of booze were only working to a point. At the very least, they should have stopped at Refuge Pointe to resupply, but Amarn said they couldn't let the woman and the Orc get much further ahead or they might lose them.

"Shut yer trap," Derek snapped. "Pussy's pussy. Don't matter what ugly bitch owns it."

Amarn chuckled. "I suspect she would beg to differ."

"Like I care," the man shrugged. Returning his attention to the silent tableau a hundred yards away, he frowned. "Looks like she owns the place." he muttered. "You don't think she's the contact, do you?"

"Let me see!" Andrew hissed, reaching for the spyglass. Derek swatted his hand.

"Back the fuck off," he snarled.

"Hand it over," Amarn said firmly, holding out his hand. Derek glared at him, but complied. Adjusting the focus, Amarn squinted across the distance. "I'll be damned," he murmured. "It's that bitch Orc I've seen causing no end of trouble in Dalaran."

"What, the woman?" Andrew asked.

"Yes," Amarn confirmed with a slight nod. "Merchants nearly close up shop when she marches into the Exchange."

Derek snickered. "So that's a 'yes', eh?"

Amarn smirked. "Pretty fair assumption. I wouldn't put it past her." Returning his attention to the action in the fort, his brow furrowed. "Odd. Our Orc just went down on his knee..."

"Can I fucking have a look?" Andrew said a bit too loudly. Both men hissed for him to shut up. Amarn watched carefully as Fentulk rose, a few words more were exchanged, then the mage began casting a spell.

"What's she doing?" Derek asked, squinting.

"Ssshh," Amarn snapped, concentrating. A shimmering oval of fiery energy flared into life, suspended in midair a few inches from the ground. "She's summoned a portal."

"Where to?" Andrew automatically asked.

"I'm looking," Amarn murmured. If he could focus past the heat haze-like surface, he might be able to see through and identify the endpoint. His gaze remained fixed on the portal until the Orc man and Human woman stepped through and the oval shrunk abruptly to nothing and disappeared.

Lowering the spyglass, he said simply, "Blasted Lands. They've gone to the Dark Portal."

Derek stared at him. "What the hell for?"

Shrugging, Amarn looked down into the fort again. The obnoxious-beyond-reckoning Orc woman was casting another spell. He had a feeling he knew what it was, and her swift disappearance at the end of the cast confirmed it. Once she was gone, the fort's residents returned to their normal routine. Amarn snapped the spyglass shut.

"We'll need to notify Shaw," he declared briskly.

"Wait, you know where they've gone," Derek interjected. "Why aren't we following them? And what about the green bitch?"

Amarn gave him a withering look. "The 'green bitch,' as you so elegantly call her, is likely going to Dalaran. She is well known there; sooner or later, that's where she'll go. We won't have any trouble finding her, believe me. As to the others, do you want me to cast a portal _here, right now_? Not only would the Orcs down there see me do it, but we'd likely appear right next to our quarry. Are you ready to break our cover this soon?"

Chagrined, Derek folded his arms over his chest and glared down at the Orcs in the fortress below as if _they'd_ insulted him.

"Can't you, you know, aim for somewhere else or something?" Andrew asked. "So we land a bit further away where they won't see us?"

"Such as...?" Amarn prompted sarcastically. "Portal spells are fixed to specific locations so the caster doesn't wind up sunk halfway through a rockface or at the bottom of the ocean. The only difference is a few feet at most, when Horde and Alliance portals are going to the same location, and only so we don't land on top of, or worse, _merged inside_ one another."

"Oh," Andrew muttered, looking away with embarrassment.

Amarn rolled his eyes. To most, a mage was simply a weapon or a transportation mechanism. It was thoroughly annoying. "Needless to say, we should give them at least a half hour. I suggest we move from this location in the meantime and find a better place to cast the portal unseen."

Agreeing to the mage's suggestion, the men carefully picked their way down the hillside, Derek and Andrew Stealthed and Amarn Invisible. None in the fort even knew they were there.

Less than half a mile from their hiding place, Amarn suddenly stopped short, back gone rigid. The two rogues, unable to see the mage, bumped into him.

"What the...?" Derek snarled. "That you, Amarn?"

"Yes," the mage growled, releasing the Invisibility spell and reappearing. The rogues un-Stealthed. "She's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ , I can't sense her attunement spell. It's like...," he said, grasping for a way to convey a concept the men couldn't hope to understand. "Similar to snuffing a candle. One moment there is light, the next... darkness. She must have passed through the Portal."

"Well, we better fucking move our asses, don't you think?" Derek snapped.

"Yes, I believe you are right," Amarn agreed, then began casting the portal spell.


	15. Grab the Bitch!

After his agents bungled things badly enough to set a murderous Orc loose on the Hinterlands, Varian Wrynn awaited the latest report with dread. Sure, his spymaster insisted it was intended, but he knew better. _Cunning plan, my ass_.

"What now?" Wrynn sighed wearily as Mathias Shaw shuffled his papers annoyingly, trying to find the right page.

"Here we are," Shaw replied, oblivious to or ignoring his king's impatience. His eyes squinted around the elegantly flowing script of Amarn's report. "My men tracked the Orc and the woman to Hammerfall, where they met with another Orc. A portal then took them to the Blasted Lands." Glancing up, he said, "It would seem our birds have flown, sire. They have passed through the Dark Portal into Draenor."

Wrynn slammed his hands on the desk top and leaned forward. "They're _gone_? Your idiot men let them slip away _again_? What good are you, Shaw? Why do I even have you in my employ?"

Having heard similar words from the king before, Shaw barely registered offense. "My men are following them, sire."

"To _where_?" Wrynn cried. "What could that fucking Orc possibly be doing _there_?"

"I expect to receive an update once my men reach Honor Hold, or some other location with a mail system installed. They have to proceed carefully, sire; if they get too close, the woman will recognize them."

"By the Light, this is getting out of hand," Wrynn growled, slumping in his chair.

"Not all is lost, sire," Shaw said, skimming the report. "It seems we have a lead on a possible accomplice."

Wrynn perked up. "What have you got?" he asked hopefully.

"The Orc who met our quarry at Hammerfall was, obviously, a mage," Shaw replied. "She summoned the portal sending them to the Blasted Lands, then transported herself away. Her bearing was one of command, and though an altercation with the commander at Hammerfall appeared to be starting, it was quelled as soon as she entered the scene."

Nodding, Wrynn muttered, "Yes, if by her mere _presence_ she can stop Orcs from tearing each other apart, she _must_ be in charge." Snorting, he growled, "Animals. Very well, then. Where is the 'good' news here? I'm betting no one knows where she went from Hammerfall."

Grinning, Shaw said, "Indeed, sire. One of my men, a mage himself, recognized her. She frequents Dalaran and should be easily found whenever we like. Judging by her reputation, I don't doubt the Kirin Tor will turn a blind eye, or at least briefly look away, in her case."

"Well," Wrynn said brightly, "that _is_ good news. Do we have a name?"

"Yes, sire," the spymaster nodded. "Her name is Ghakora, but she goes by Kora. Gets extremely... well, _more_ obnoxious if not called by her preferred name. If it is your wish to pursue this additional lead, I can put a man on it at once."

"Of _course_ I want to pursue it!" Wrynn roared. "What do you _think_? I want Dalaran watched. I _trust_ you can get a fucking agent in _that_ city?"

"Yes, sire," Shaw said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Horde and Alliance rub elbows there. We will have no difficulties putting a tail on her."

"None of this... tail nonsense, whatever the fuck that is," Wrynn snapped. "Watch her. Learn her movements. Figure out if she's got any other ties. I want her, I want her friends, I want her beautician... _everyone_. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sire," Shaw replied with a short bow.

"Now, about this other bit of business...," Varian Wrynn began, but was interrupted by a knock on the door of his office. Sighing, he barked, "Come!"

A messenger entered the room and bowed. "Urgent message from Lady Proudmore, sire. She respectfully requests as many troops as you can muster in a few days time sent to Theramore Isle at once. "

Wrynn blinked at the shocking announcement and shot a look at his spymaster. "Uh... something going on over there?"

Thinking the question was directed at him, the messenger continued, "She has reason to believe a significant Horde force from Durotar is planning large-scale assault. We lack the necessary troops to repel such an attack at this time, nor would we withstand a siege of any kind. Our forces are currently engaged in the campaign in the Southern Barrens and defending the supply line from Theramore across Dustwallow Marsh to the front. The Grimtotem clan has been causing an unprecedented amount of trouble for us lately as well, sire."

"Why have I not been informed before now?" Wrynn growled at Shaw. "I have agents in Durotar, _don't I_?"

Stiffening, Shaw drew himself up. "My men are stretched thin as it is, sire. Those I have watching Orgrimmar are... otherwise engaged at the moment." He didn't think it was necessary to remind his king what was occupying his men's attention.

Narrowing his eyes for a moment at Shaw, Wrynn turned back to the messenger. "What intelligence has she received? Who told her about this?"

"Lady Proudmore did not reveal her source to me or anyone else, sire," the messenger said apologetically. "She only said it was someone she trusts. Would you consent to muster the necessary force, sire?"

Shaking himself, Wrynn nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, I consent. Take your message to Genn Greymane, and tell him to get General Marcus Jonathan on it. He'll know what's needed." Tapping his chin thoughtfully for a moment, he added, "And notify the mages. We won't be able to get a fleet across the ocean in a few days if she's in that desperate a need. I want portals to Theramore opened as soon as the first company is assigned, understood?"

Saluting, the messenger replied, "Yes, sire." Then he swiftly left the office on his errands.

Frowning with concern, Wrynn met Shaw's eyes. "Did you hear anything about this?"

"No sire, I didn't," Shaw replied stiffly. "As we have discussed many times before, I have no agents inside Orgrimmar. My men can only watch movement _outside_ the city. If they are mustering a force or planning an attack, unless something stirs Dranosh'ar Blockade into a frenzy, I'm in the dark. As it is, my few men watching the gates have been engaged elsewhere on other missions assigned by you." Clenching his jaw, he added, " _Sire_."

While Shaw's thinly veiled accusation stirred his king's thoughts, they didn't land where he hoped they would.

"Right. So... have you heard anything more about that woman, then?"

Sighing, Shaw set aside Amarn's report and broke the seal on the Durotar agents' report he'd received just as he was leaving for his audience with Wrynn. Quickly scanning the report, he almost sighed again. He knew exactly what he'd hear as soon as he read the first few lines.

"It seems she's on the move again, sire," Shaw reluctantly summarized. "A bat from Sen'jin flew her and that Troll of hers out, heading... south." Frowning, he carefully re-read the destination. Looking up from the report, he said flatly, "They flew to Brackenwall."

Wrynn narrowed his eyes. "Is that... supposed to mean something to me?"

Suppressing an impatient snort, Shaw supplied, "It's in northern Dustwallow Marsh." Wrynn started. "Less than five miles from Theramore."

"And... your men are following her, right?"

"Yes, sire," Shaw nodded.

Puffing up like a beast scenting prey, Wrynn snarled, "If she so much as pokes her nose out of that encampment, _take her_. Get your hands on her. I want answers, and I don't give a shit what you have to do to get them."

Shaw wondered to himself if this woman knew anything about the planned attack; _that_ was more important to him than any plot against the king. It was far more immediate. "Yes, sire. There are some holding cells in the guard towers up in that area; they should have no trouble locking her up."

"Her _and_ the Troll," Wrynn demanded. "I want you on this personally, Shaw. Whatever it takes, make her talk."

Narrowing his eyes, Shaw said carefully, "There are... methods I won't allow my men to use, sire. Regarding women prisoners, even if they're Horde. I wouldn't want to set a precedent..."

"I... don't... give... a _shit,_ Shaw," Wrynn snarled. " _Whatever it takes_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:
> 
> Trip to Dustwallow Marsh - reasons for it in chapter 39, first night there in chapter 40  
> Aftermath of this little interlude covered in chapters 41 through 46


	16. Through the Portal into Hell Itself

"Light save us," Joanne breathed in shock. The sensations of being pulled in several different directions at once had been shocking enough, but once they emerged on the other side of the Dark Portal, the alien landscape before her was nothing like what Fentulk described.

It was a wasteland, somehow more devastatingly ruined than what they called the Blasted Lands. Every scrap of life had been sucked away from this place, leaving nothing but red sand as far as the eye could see. In the distance to her right, Joanne spied what looked like a huge inverted mountain top, hanging in the air. And the sky...

She had no words to describe it. Currents of greenish yellow energy flowed like rivers where clouds should have been. She could see what looked like moons, enlarged to mammoth size and close enough to touch. Heat and sand billowed across this arid land, carried by a merciless wind that cut through their meager clothing and left grit in their eyes and mouths.

This land was dead. Utterly and completely. Even someone like Joanne, with no training to detect the pulse of life in the world around them, could sense its agonized end of years before.

"Fentulk...," she whispered, lips trembling, "please tell me... this is not..."

Shaking himself, Fentulk sighed. "No, it ain't. This is Hellfire Peninsula. My... some of my folk..." He paused and looked away in shame. "We did this. Orcs. Maybe we was under the demons' taint at the time, but... most of m-my people..." Mustering as much pride as he could manage, he said, "Thrall's clan didn't do this. They never turned their backs on the elements. 'S'why he's killin' hisself to save Azeroth. Don't wanna see _this_ happen _there_."

Looking around to orient himself, he saw the Horde soldiers mustering on the landing at the foot of the stone steps below them. His eyes immediately went further, to the very bottom of the long descent from the Portal. There, engaged in fierce battle, was a gigantic four-legged pit commander and his many demonic minions. A quick scan revealed not just Horde but Alliance soldiers, fighting side-by-side against the common threat.

The Portal could no longer be closed. This garrison, along with its mate on the Azeroth side, was the last bulwark against another full-scale incursion of the Burning Legion into Azeroth.

Joanne followed his gaze and gasped, then clung to his side. He immediately wrapped an arm protectively around her. She'd never seen anything like those creatures in her life. There were _many_ things on Draenor that would frighten her, he knew.

Turning, he gently took her chin between his thick fingers and urged her to look at him instead of the carnage below them. "Listen to me, Joanne," he said, his voice a soft rumble. "This ain't all of Draenor. We'll get to my home, I promise. It don't look like this. There ain't..." He'd wanted to say there weren't demons there, but the Legion still maintained a foothold in every region. Nagrand was no exception. "Them demons down there... there ain't that many of'em there, and they ain't nowhere near Garadar."

Eyes swimming with terrified tears, Joanne barely kept her voice under control. "I... want to... trust you, but... I am so..."

"Trust ain't given, it's earned," he said firmly. "Shoulda told yuh 'bout this. Guess I... well, I didn't forget exactly." Looking back at the horribly blighted land and its eternal reminder of his people's arrogance, he winced. "Wish I could."

"I want to leave this place," she said. "How do we..."

"Been givin' it a bit of thought," he said. "There's a neutral city we could go to, called Shattrath. But I gotta take a Horde flight, and you gotta take an Alliance..."

"No," Joanne interrupted. "No, do not leave me. Not even... No, please. Is there any way we can travel together?"

Grimacing with even more embarrassment, he said, "Don't matter anyway. We got no money. We'll have to go on foot."

Joanne blanched, but said nothing. Fentulk wasn't happy about the prospect either. Only one small spark of hope shone in this bleak situation.

"Probably a day or so from here's a Mag'har settlement, up in the mountains that way," he said, pointing. "We get there, maybe... maybe they'll help us." Even he wasn't particularly encouraged by his faltering tone. "We gotta try, anyway. Thrallmar's on the way, but... I just don't wanna take a chance on somethin' like Hammerfall happenin' again. They mighta taken you away. Ain't gonna let that happen here," he assured her firmly.

Taking her hand, he gave her an encouraging smile, then led her down the steps.

The frequent skirmishes at the Dark Portal were routine enough that a means of transporting civilians past the front lines had been concocted by both the Horde and the Alliance. A wyvern flew them through the hot, dry air over the battle and the demonic hordes, then deposited them on the road just beyond. Fentulk winced; this road was called the Path of Glory, and was paved with the bones of the Draenei killed a generation ago as the first act of murderous bloodshed the Orcs' demonic masters demanded. He didn't want to have to explain to Joanne why it was done, or why the road stretched for miles and miles...

Fentulk felt no real joy at being 'home' just yet; he was looking at this shameful region again with Joanne's eyes, a woman who knew nothing of the history. Telling her about it would open old wounds he thought he didn't have. He was too young to remember Guldan selling the souls of their people to the Burning Legion for his own personal gain, the lust for blood that drove them through the Dark Portal, the wars fought on both worlds, the destruction of their own world in the attempt to reach _other_ worlds to conquer. He'd always known Draenor as it was now; his parents remembered it from before the sundering.

Perhaps when they reached the green grasslands of Nagrand, he would feel relief that his journey had ended and he was home at long last. But pain lanced through him, remembering that the woman he wished to share such happiness with no longer trusted him. She no longer believed he was a man of honor.

Furrowing his brow and standing straight, Fentulk vowed to prove himself to her. He would win her heart if it took him the rest of his life.

His thoughts were broken by a seismic tremor that shook the ground beneath their feet. Darting his eyes around, Fentulk found the cause of it... bearing down on them.

"Run!" he cried, grabbing her hand and taking off. She barely managed to keep up with him. Glancing back, she saw the gigantic... thing... she had no idea what she was looking at.

"What is it?" she panted.

"Fel reaver!" he barked, his eyes scanning for a hiding place. Before them were a line of broken down siege engines and collapsed catapaults from a long ago battle. If they could get under one, they might escape detection from the mechanical monstrosity. "In there, go!" He all but flung her tumbling and rolling across the dusty ground ahead of him, then dove under the rubble behind her.

"Quiet," he hissed, covering her mouth with his large hand and holding her close. She trembled so much in his arms, he could barely tell the difference between her shaking and the vibrations from the giant metalshod feet. He shielded her the best he could, straining his ears above the fel creation's engine noise for the tell-tale metallic roar that meant its prey was spotted.

To his relief, it continued on its patrol, oblivious to their presence. Relaxing somewhat, he looked at Joanne. She was mussed and covered from head to toe in red dust, but otherwise all right. Reaching up, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, and chuckled. His own dirty hand left a red streak across her forehead.

"Fentulk," she whispered fearfully, clinging to the front of his shirt and showing no sign of letting go, "how do your people live here with such... monsters?"

"They don't climb mountains so well," he replied. "'S'why the Mag'har here live so high up. If we can get to them, maybe they'll get us the rest of the way out. Maybe all the way to Zangarmarsh."

Her lip trembled. "What is _that_ land like?"

"Swamplands," he said. "Giant mushrooms that grow as tall and thick as trees. More water than it can hold, but none to spare for _this_ cursed pit." He spat over his shoulder. The dry earth soaked up the moisture almost instantly. "Better get goin' 'fore that fuckin' thing comes back around."

Slowly, he edged out, looking around for any sign of the fel reaver. Thankfully, it was already nearly a mile away, stomping on its endless circuit. The Burning Legion brought its fleshlike demonic hordes to slay anything and everything, but it also brought its thinkers and copiers. Inventions of the gnomes and goblins were perverted into mammoth size and deadliness, then set loose upon the inventors. Creations such as the fel reavers needed no commands or organization; they were simply machines given one single task, which they carried out with cold and ruthless precision.

If it lives, kill it.

Taking Joanne's hand, he led her off the bone-paved road onto a dirt track he knew would pass alarmingly close to Thrallmar, but would at least get them heading in the right direction. It would be a couple of days' travel to get across the wasteland. As they walked, he realized their precarious position was even worse than he'd imagined. The pack of rations he'd gotten from the human at Refuge Point was seriously depleted. Only two water skins were in it as well, one empty now. It would take a day at least to get to Thrallmar on foot, which he now saw as no longer optional. Steeling himself, Fentulk summoned Moke and reluctantly set the bird on patrol in the skies above. One more mouth in need of water they didn't have...

"I think we'll have to stop in Thrallmar," he said quietly, and Joanne looked at him uncertainly.

"I thought you did not want to go there," she reminded him.

"Got no choice," he growled. "We ain't got water. I flew here when I last came through. Takes a lot less time. You and me... we'll be movin' slower cause we're on foot."

"I see," she whimpered. Squeezing her eyes shut against the red glare that seemed to radiate not just from the unobstructed sun overhead but the very ground at her feet, she tried not to let her grip slip. This was a nightmare. Far worse than anything she'd imagined. That such a place could still be considered 'home' to _anyone_...

She clung to his words, to his promise that _this wasn't his home_. His home was still green and growing, still full of light, still _alive_. Even the promise of this Zangarmarsh place was something to hold onto in the face of such devastation.

But he would get her there. He'd _promised_. For all her resistance to him since Hammerfall, regardless that she stiffened at his touch and returned his gazes with anger and hurt... When she walked out of the tower, everything she knew was left behind. She put herself completely in Fentulk's hands, leaving nothing in her own.

Her mind wandered as they trudged along in the sweltering heat. What she'd possessed was meager at best, now that she thought about it. As a servant chained by law and debt, had she really held any measure of control in her life? Isolated as they were, anything could be done to her, as was done to her mother, and there would be no one to defend her, none to protect her. She was no better than a slave to the whims of others.

Then came Fentulk, a man whose suffering moved her like no other prisoner's had before. Many protested their innocence; few clearly were. None showed any concern for her or the other servants, nor did they demand _more_ abuse be heaped upon their broken bodies to spare it being done to another, a servant least of all.

How could she help but be drawn to him? How could she deny his entreaty to escape with him to a land so far away that none of her 'employers' could hope to reclaim her? A place where she could have a life, a _future_ , not endless toil for no personal gain.

Her faith in him was shaken by the supposition that he had merely 'collected' her as a trophy, yet another human woman to boast of among his fellows. She felt a fool, thinking he was as innocent and inexperienced as she. Believing every word from his lips of how he cared for none but her, only to hear of another with whom he'd shared more than she was quite prepared to give. He'd led her to believe he would honor and respect her, yet he lay with some woman he never expected to...

She'd thought and thought about the words he'd said, the expressions on his face, when he spoke of Karie. He never degraded her for what they shared, she realized. Joanne now recalled idle words spoken within her hearing at the tower, men who visited Stormwind and the shady women they enjoyed while there. She recalled the words they used – whore, tramp, harlot – many others she somehow knew were descriptive of parts of the women's bodies the men favored, as if _that_ were the only thing of use such women provided. Vile things were said, and much laughter shared at the women's expense.

No such terms passed Fentulk's lips when speaking of Karie. He called her a 'good woman,' and Joanne had no reason to believe he meant it in jest. Fentulk defended her, insisting that none describe her with foul names.

As she walked at his side, sometimes glancing at his grim countenance, she wondered what made him so different from those men. Why he would show nothing but respect to a woman with whom he supposedly only had a brief encounter, one with a clear and limited purpose.

Were there still feelings for this woman plaguing him? Did he declare his love for her, only to be rebuked? Joanne didn't know, and was afraid to ask lest the answer tear the fragile affection for him that held on so tenuously in her own heart. Yet how much longer could she endure _not_ knowing?

There was also the matter of his vow to her in Hammerfall. He went down on one knee and implored her with his eyes, begging her to trust in his word as he swore not to lay claim to her. It only occurred to her now what he was giving her.

He swore not to touch her, not to push himself on her, if she didn't want him. No matter how he felt about her, no matter how much _he_ wanted _her_ , no matter what power he had over her in this world or any other, he would not use it against her. She was free to make her own choices, guide her own fate. Fentulk put her life into her own hands by committing himself to such an oath.

How could she not love him for that?

The ripple of longing that passed through her at the realization nearly sent her to her knees. Fentulk was right there with a reassuring hand to steady her, and she clung to him gratefully. How could it have happened, that a brutish, vulgar-tongued Orc could so capture her heart?

* * *

The sun had descended, casting the red landscape into blackness where green fire periodically spouted to light up the night, when they reached the gates of Thrallmar. Separation was out of the question; Fentulk felt no confidence that leaving Joanne outside, even well-hid, would ensure her safety. They were met by a pair of grunts, as the guards were often called in Horde cities. One stayed with them, eying them beadily with a hand on his axe haft, while the other trotted toward the stronghold.

"Gotta ask," the grunt said finally. "What's she with you for?"

Fentulk puffed himself up a bit, trying to look more intimidating than he felt at the moment. "Ain't your concern. I ain't sayin' nothin' till the commander gets here."

Shrugging, the grunt fell silent. A few minutes later, the dark forms of two broad-shouldered Orcs appeared in the gloom beyond the torchlight at the gates.

"This better be good," growled the newcomer the other grunt brought back. The Orc wore a wolfskin drape over his dark green shoulders, and the animal's head had been fashioned to serve as a helm. "I'm Nazgrel. Whattayou want?"

"Sir," Fentulk said respectfully, dipping his chin in a nod. He wasn't a soldier; a salute felt uncomfortable to him. "Lookin' for a place to sleep is all. On our way to Nagrand. Got no money, no mount, no food, no water..." Suddenly his throat slammed shut and he found himself nearly losing his grip as he told this stern-faced Orc their plight. "Please, sir," he said brokenly. "Just for the night. We won't be no trouble. Just for the night."

He felt Joanne's gentle hand on his arm, and covered it with his own. Nazgrel narrowed his eyes.

"Human, eh?" he growled.

Fentulk raised his chin defiantly, but said nothing. He and the commander glared at one another for several tense moments before Nazgrel snarled, "Don't want human scum littering up my hold. If I didn't owe it to Thrall to be civil to the Mag'har, I'd send you on your way and good riddance to you. Take your bit of baggage to the inn, but I want you two _out_ of here by first light. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Fentulk said gratefully. "Thank you, sir."

Nazgrel spat at the brown-skinned Orc's feet, gave him one last disgusted look, then stomped away into the darkness.

"Come on, it's this way," the first grunt offered, and he led the pair to the inn. On the way, he said quietly, "Don't take it hard. He's a right bastard where the Alliance is concerned. Lucky you got brown skin or he wouldn't give you the time of day." Glancing past Fentulk at the frightened woman's face, he added sympathetically, "I'll get you some supplies in the morning. You ain't gonna get far in the wastes without water."

"Thank you," Fentulk replied with relief.

"Ain't my business, but... uh... she your mate or somethin'?"

Badly as he wanted to say she was, Fentulk shook his head. He didn't need to look at her for confirmation, either.

"We are... friends," Joanne offered in a timid voice. "Close... friends."

The grunt shrugged. "Happens, I suppose. Here you go," he said, stopping at the entrance to the inn. "Tell Floyd your room's on me. Name's Trukk. He'll take care of you."

"Thank you," Joanne said feelingly. "You've been more than kind."

The Orc's cheeks darkened to a richer green and he wasn't able to hide his smile very well as he shrugged again. "Got a girl back home my folks don't like. Know how it is." Glancing about to make sure none heard, he whispered, "Blood Elf. Her folks ain't too fond of me, neither."


	17. Clearing the Air

As Fentulk and Joanne entered the small inn, two pairs of extremely bloodshot eyes watched them from the ridge behind the fortress.

"There's a dead guy running that inn, so I hear," Derek noted in an undertone. A demonic base camp wasn't so far away that a foolishly loud word wouldn't call attention to them. The fel reaver that got a hold of Andrew was still fresh in his mind.

Derek had seen some pretty awful shit in that tower, and done some as well, but what that mechanical beast did to Andrew nearly made him shit himself.

Shaking it off, he made an attempt at humor to help him put it out of his mind. "Think he'll eat her? Or turn her into a Forsaken?"

"That would make our efforts pointless," Amarn replied dully. This mission had managed to hit every button for him: stupid travel companions, meager fare, poor accommodations, endless small talk, frequent run-ins with the locals... and now _desert_. Worse than desert, _wasteland._ He'd done his tour of duty out of Honor Hold years before and assumed his days of coughing up dust-reddened sputum were over. Evidently not.

"Can you pick her up now? That spell thing?" Derek asked.

Sighing, Amarn growled, "For the fourth time, _no_. The portal negated the spell. It is _gone_. We'll have to use our _wits_ to track them. In which case, this mission is a failure, considering the resources remaining."

"Look, you coulda helped, you know!" Derek hissed angrily. "Like maybe thrown a fireball or some shit. Distracted it..."

"To what end?" Amarn said, arching his brow. "Andrew was not particularly bright, if he missed all the signs of an approaching fel reaver. Even _you_ noticed it. He served his purpose: the creature was _distracted_ long enough for us to escape. I do not see what is at issue here."

"Never mind, yuh cold-hearted bastard," Derek muttered. Pulling his cloak about him more tightly, he fixed his eyes on the inn below them and seethed in silence.

* * *

"Trukk good for it, eh?" the undead innkeeper rasped. "Nazgrel let you in, huh? Musta had a hell of a story." After eying Joanne for a lengthy moment, he shrugged awkwardly with one shoulder, for the other sagged lower from some pre-death injury, and motioned toward a pair of beds in a corner of the building. There were no private rooms; the inn was closer to being a barracks. Fentulk supposed that was understandable, given the location and the constant threats. Everyone, from Nazgrel down to Floyd, must have the same military bend to them.

Still, it was an actual bed, and Fentulk wasn't inclined to complain. And the fact that Floyd only narrowed his glowing green eyes at Joanne's cringing form at least gave him some semblance of confidence that the Forsaken man would do her no harm.

Yet she trembled and kept glancing about. There weren't many guests in the inn, but there were a few. Fentulk scanned them and noted mostly men; a Troll, a Tauren, and two Blood Elves. Of women, there was only one, another Troll. All were fast asleep in their bunks and unaware of the new arrivals.

"Here," Fentulk said, and shoved one of the beds they'd been shown up against the wall. Then he pushed the other against the first. "You sleep in that one there, and I'll... I'll make sure nobody bothers you."

"Thank you," Joanne said quietly, and climbed into the far bed. The mattress was stiff and the linens were a bit stale, but it was not the ground, nor was it outside in the elements where monstrosities the size of the tower walked about freely, seeking victims. She shuddered and pulled the thin blanket over herself.

Fentulk dropped his pack on the floor next to his bed and sat with his back to her for a moment. He should be glad to be on the road home, yet it was bittersweet so long as Joanne distrusted him. Could the ancestors have been wrong? Was she _not_ the one? If she wasn't, why did he feel so certain that she was?

Sighing, he lay down and stared at the ceiling for several minutes, unable to find sleep. He wasn't much of a drinker, but he would have been grateful for a mug of Nixxrax's special brew about now.

"Fentulk?" Joanne whispered to him in the darkness. He turned his head; he could barely see her in the dim light shining at the open doorway of the inn.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me of Nagrand," she said softly.

A slight smile curved his mouth. "It's beautiful. There's hills and valleys... herds of clefthoof and talbuk all about, grazin' in the grass. Tall grass, so green it makes your heart ache, seein' it after _this_ place. Sky's always blue... except when it rains, of course. Trees all over... they got shapes to'em, like they was people once. Hard to describe. Then there's the islands in the sky."

"In the sky?"

"Yeah. Bits of the land got ripped up and just sort of... hover there," he explained. "Got grass on'em. Some trees on the bigger ones. You gotta fly to'em. Get up there, you can see all of Nagrand."

"It sounds lovely," she said. "Will we be there soon?"

"Couple days, I hope. Don't wanna take too long in the swamps if I can avoid it. The Cenarion Circle's out there, right as you come down the road from the Peninsula. Maybe they'll..." His throat closed suddenly and a shudder ran through him. Swallowing hard, he went on, "Maybe they'll let us use one'uh their transports to get... to get home."

"This has been hard on you, hasn't it?" Joanne asked, her brow creasing with worry.

"Pretty hard, yeah," he said, shrugging a little. "Ain't used to begging. Had plenty enough coin on me when I was captured. All I'd ever saved up from them years on the ship." Again, his emotions nearly overwhelmed him. "I'm sorry, Joanne. I got nothin'. I... I can't take care'uh you like I want to. If you... if you wanna go back to your people, I'll understand. There's an outpost about a day's journey from Garadar, I heard. Alliance folk are there. They'd take you in."

He felt her hand on his shoulder and looked at her.

'I have no wish to go," she said. "Only tell me one thing, Fentulk."

"Anything," he replied.

"Did you love her?"

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. "If you mean Kora, no. Never did. She thinks different, but that's just her own ego talkin'."

"I do not speak of her," Joanne said. "I could see nothing like love for _her_ in your eyes. I mean... the woman on your ship. Did you love her?"

"Yeah, I know who you meant," he replied heavily. "I don't wanna make you mad at me, Joanne. Couldn't stand seein' the look on your face back at Hammerfall."

"I am not angry now," she insisted. "I simply must know where your heart lies."

Treading carefully, he steadied himself and said, "It weren't love, what was between me and Karie. She came to me, and... I was just... lonely. Ain't nobody pays no mind to the deckhands on them trips. Passengers just go about their business and I go about mine. She just sort of... asked me if I'd be interested in... you know... keepin' her company and such." Sighing, he turned his gaze back to the ceiling. "Ain't no way to say it nice. It was just sex. Nothin' else. But bein' with her... them times... I didn't feel so... alone. Like maybe... even if all the world didn't give a fuck about me or even care that I was there, _that_ woman did. _That_ one was glad to see me."

"Yet you did not love her?" Joanne asked. She felt herself relenting further. She wanted to be certain that this part of his past was over and done with, and it seemed that it was. At least, his relationship with this woman was not what Joanne had thought it was. Though relieved that he did not harbor a stronger attachment to Karie, she wondered if the feelings this woman seemed to stir in him were not also set aside. But truthfully, Joanne had experienced the same thing in the tower. While she had never sought the same sort of comfort for her loneliness, she had definitely longed for companionship. A friend. Someone to pass the time with. Someone to understand.

"No," he said. "I know what love is, and I didn't have it for her. She didn't love me, neither. It was just... sex. Sorta left me empty after. It's why I went huntin' for a mate. Cause... I didn't wanna be alone no more. Didn't wanna be... empty."

Turning his head to look at her again, he said firmly, "It weren't about lookin' for a fuck, Joanne. I swear it. I know what a mate's all about. My parents... they're mates, good and strong. I want what _they_ have; what they've _always_ had. I just... didn't want someone like Karie, one'uh them 'once and done' things." Grimacing with disgust, he growled, "I could'uh gotten a fuck any time in Booty Bay, if that's all it was about. Bein' with her a week... sometimes it weren't fuckin', it was _talkin'_. And a lot of thinkin'." A half smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "Whores don't generally chat with yuh, and they sure as hell don't make you think about shit. Karie weren't no whore. And she made me think."

"What you thought... was that you wanted a companion," Joanne said.

"Yeah," he acknowledged, settling once more on his back, his eyes on the ceiling again. "She made me see what I was missin'. What I didn't know I was supposed to be lookin' for 'til she showed me... what it could be like." Growling with frustration, he said, "I don't know how to say it. Probably just makin' it worse."

"No, I understand," she said. "She... treated you well."

He nodded. "Wanted to know my name. Where my folk came from. What my pet's name was. If I'd ever been to Northrend." Grunting with amusement, he added, "Karie made me think she cared. Suppose she did, a bit. Made me feel... good. Down deep, not just... _that_ kinduh good."

Turning his head to look at Joanne, his heart ached, and he could not hold back. "Feels good, bein' with you. Even if you don't...," he began, then shook his head. "That don't matter. I'll get you outta this place in one piece, I promise."

"I know you will," she said softly. "Fentulk... I am glad you are with me."

He chuckled with bitter amusement. "Wouldn't leave you in a place like this. Sorry I had to bring you at all. There just ain't no other way to get home."

Though it was late and Joanne was exhausted, she wanted to talk with him all night. There was a comforting intimacy in it, their whispers in the dark. She felt closer to him now, having heard his side of things. He was a man in need of a companion, as she was a woman who longed for the same. Had the desire, the _need_ stirred in her when he begged the men to spare her, to commit their foul deeds upon him instead? Or was it before, when he attempted casual humor though he'd been abused so badly he could barely stand?

Something about him was different, that much was certain. Something had moved her heart, and urged her hand. A path was laid out before her and she dared to set her foot upon it. Only now did she come to realize that he walked it as well.


	18. Setting Out Again

It seemed Fentulk had hardly closed his eyes when he felt someone nudging him awake.

"Hey," a gruff voice said quietly in Orcish, "gotta get up."

For a moment, he thought it was his father, urging him out of bed to go hunting before the sun was up, while their quarry was still lazy with sleep. He hadn't let himself think of his parents very much; it wasn't until now that he was hit with how much he missed them, and was looking forward to seeing them again.

Opening his eyes, Fentulk found himself looking up at Trukk. The green-skinned Orc grinned.

"Yuh sleep like the dead," he commented good-naturedly. "Thought I'd get yuh up early, so's Nazgrel don't shit a brick."

Fentulk grunted a laugh as he sat up stiffly. Looking beside him, he saw that Joanne was beginning to stir. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest, seeing her lying there... almost in his own bed. Almost like she was really his.

Tearing his eyes away from her lovely form, he met Trukk's gaze and swallowed. His look of longing wasn't lost on the other Orc, who offered a sympathetic half smile.

"Got some shi-... some stuff for yuh," he said, glancing at the yawning woman sitting up on the far bed. "Water and some jerky we make round here from them ugly fu-... ugly pigs that roam about."

"I'll pay you back for all of it," Fentulk vowed as he stood. "I swear it."

Trukk waved his hand dismissively. "Next time I'm takin' a message out to Garadar, I'll look yuh up."

"Name's Fentulk," he said. "You come by, and I'll show you around."

The green Orc shrugged. "Just make me wanna leave _this_ place more, like I don't already. Nah, I'll just settle up with yuh. Wish I could get yuh a wolf, but Nazgrel'd have my ba-... he'd get pretty mad."

"She don't speak Orcish," Fentulk said with amusement. "But thanks. Don't worry about the wolf; you done enough. I don't know how to thank you proper for it."

"Don't speak it, huh?" Trukk asked, glancing past him. The woman sat with her knees drawn up, her head resting tiredly on her arms. "How d'you talk to her, then?"

"I speak common," Fentulk shrugged, then chuckled. "About as bad as I do Orcish."

"Hmph, who fuckin' cares, eh?" Trukk grinned. "Long as you get yer point across, don't matter how you done it. So... she's just a friend?"

Fentulk closed his eyes, bowed his head, and nodded. Trukk thumped him on the shoulder.

"No she ain't," he said quietly. "Come on," he went on before Fentulk could respond. "No time for chatter. Nazgrel'll be stormin' in here with his mouth full'uh shit, ready to spit, if you don't get a move on."

Turning to Joanne, Fentulk said, "You ready to go?"

Lifting her head, she blinked at him for a moment. The two Orcs had been speaking their own tongue for several minutes and she'd drifted off. "Yes," she said, and scooted off the end of the bed. "Quite ready."

Taking her hand, Fentulk led her out of the inn in Trukk's wake. The Orc slowed a bit so he could walk beside Fentulk.

"So, uh," Trukk ventured, this time in common, "where you headed from here?"

Fentulk replied, "Gotta pay my respects to the captain of the Mag'har here, so we'll be stoppin' there first."

Trukk nodded. "Don't get up there myself much, but I hear things. Them fuckers... pardon, miss, folks at 'Honor' Hold keep nailin' the place, takin' out their warriors. Better keep yer eyes peeled for Alliance bas-... sorts."

"They at war with the Mag'har, then?" Fentulk asked worriedly.

Shrugging, Trukk said, "Hell if I know. It ain't their 'finest' neither. Any stupid son of a bitch what wanders in off the sands gets a list of shi-... stuff to do, and fuckin' with the Mag'har's one of'em. Mind you, Nazgrel ain't above doin' the same, but leastways he's sendin'em out to put a dent in the demon population, not murder a bunch of folk who ain't doin' nothin'."

Fentulk scowled a bit, but let it go. The last thing he wanted to get in the middle of was a fight between his people and the Alliance. He just wanted to fucking go home. Maybe after he'd had a chance to settle back in and rest... _sleep_ for longer than five minutes without someone or something giving him a hard time, he'd do his part to help them out.

Shaking himself, he smiled a little, but Trukk was still looking thoughtful.

"Better watch yourself goin' up there," he warned. "Draenei got a temple not far away, and they patrol a bunch in the area. Maybe not shoot yuh on sight, bein' as you're Mag'har and all, but I wouldn't put it past'em."

"They don't go after Mag'har?" Fentulk asked, surprised.

Trukk shook his head. "Nah. Not so much as the Honor Hold hangers-on. Them folks'll kill anything that moves." Snickering, he added, "Saw a few of'em thinkin' they had the balls to take on a fel reaver. That big bastard used'em to oil its gears."

Fentulk chuckled appreciatively. Joanne winced and paled.

"Yuh know... they ain't gonna be too happy to see her," Trukk said soberly, nodding toward Joanne walking on Fentulk's other side. "On account of all the shi-... trouble they been gettin' from the Alliance."

Frowning, Fentulk asked, "You think they'll... they'll hurt her? The Mag'har?" He exchanged a worried look with Joanne.

"Dunno," Trukk shrugged. "Probly wonder what the fu-... what yer problem is, sniffin' round the Alliance for... you know. Anyway, your, uh, your folk's different. More... peaceable, like." Slowing to a halt, for they'd reached the gates, the green-skinned Orc muttered, "Guess it's cause... you lot didn't drink the blood, eh?"

Fentulk was too young himself to have been around when the Orcs fell prey to the Burning Legion, and Trukk looked to be younger still. Sighing, he dropped a hand on the green Orc's shoulder. "You didn't drink it either. And you're a good man."

Trukk smirked a little. "My _folks_ did. Shit runs downhill."

Shaking his head, Fentulk said, "Not always."

Trukk chuckled and clapped Fentulk on the arm. "You take care'uh yerself. _And_ your woman."

Glancing uncomfortably at Joanne, who did not seem offended by Trukk's comment, he said, "I will. You come out and see Garadar."

"Next time I get leave," the green Orc promised. "I'm thinking my gal might wanna see it too."

Parting ways, Fentulk led Joanne back onto the dusty path, his well-provisioned pack a comforting weight on his shoulders. Glancing at Joanne, he furrowed his brow.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked, for she was walking with her arms crossed over her chest and her head bowed. She looked quite tense. Granted, this was not a place that inspired relaxation, but she seemed out of sorts beyond what was normal.

"I do not speak your language," she said quietly.

Wincing, he hastened to apologize. "Sorry. I didn't think..."

"I feel very alone among your people," Joanne continued stiffly. "An enemy, an outsider. That is made worse when everyone speaks a language I do not understand."

Frustrated with himself for not realizing how at a loss she must feel, he said, "I promise I won't do it no more. I'll... I'll tell yuh what's bein' said. Ain't hardly nobody round here speaks common, specially not among the Mag'har. I'm what you call a special case." Touching her shoulder lightly, he said reassuringly, "I'll teach it to yuh. At least, I'll help yuh learn it. I don't speak it so well myself. Never, uh... never really cared." Dropping his hand, he sighed deeply. "Something Kora... _Gha_ kora always let me have it about, like me not speakin' good enough for her was an insult to our people or somethin'. Like _I_ was the worst kinda thing that crawled the ground cause I never gave much of a shit."

Glancing over, he saw that she had a half smile on her face.

"You speak common well enough for me," she said. "I do not mind... _anything_ about the way you speak it."

"Still oughta have someone teach you Orcish who ain't gonna make yuh sound dumb when you do," he insisted. Tilting his head thoughtfully, he mused, "My da set me up with some bad habits, so he's no good. Ma's a right bitch if yuh don't pick shit up fast. She had soldiers under her command, so she'll lay into yuh hard. And she don't spare yuh a good tongue-lashin' when she's got her back up, neither." Chuckling, he added, "Runs outta breath and goes for the strap, my ma. I got good at out-runnin' her."

Joanne, who had never been struck by her mother in her entire life, looked at him incredulously. "Your mother beat you?"

Arching his brow, he glanced at her. "Only when I asked for it by bein' a little shit. Da's pretty relaxed, specially since he retired from huntin' for the village. Out fishin' for his own family nowadays. Not so worried about bringin' down a clefthoof to feed half of Garadar. One or two good-sized trout, maybe a bluefish on a good day... Course, most of the time is mudfish." He made a disgusted face. "Bottom-feeders, them mudfish."

"You miss them," she observed with a smile. "Your parents, not the mudfish." He snorted a laugh, then sobered.

"Like I'd miss my arm if it got cut off," he said thickly. "Didn't write so much while I been gone. Always a big fuckin' hassle, findin' someone willin' to go to the Blasted Lands and cart a sack of mail through the Portal." Glancing at her, he ventured awkwardly, "How about you, eh?"

"My mother died... oh, seven years past, I think," Joanne replied. Fentulk fumbled an embarrassed apology, and she waved him off. "I have long since moved past her loss. I do miss her, though. She taught me so much about herbal remedies."

"And, uh... what about yer da? You remember him?"

Shuddering, she looked away. "My... father... was warden of the tower before Mr. Dorath. He was not a kind man."

"Warden?" Fentulk asked suspiciously.

Joanne nodded stiffly. "He... visited my mother. When he wished it. I do not like to think about what she endured; how she must have wept. She felt such... shame, even on her deathbed, when all such humiliations should be put to rest."

"Fuckin' bastard," he snarled. Then he bristled and stared at her. "Dorath didn't... _he_ didn't come after you or nothin', did he?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. A ghost of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "He prefers men."

Startled, Fentulk almost tripped over his own feet. "Yer kidding."

She smiled wanly. "He is not particularly discreet. I have walked in on him several times while going about my duties. While Derek may visit many a brothel and boast of his prowess with the women there, he also obliges Dorath when the mood takes him."

"Well, fuck me," the Orc huffed incredulously. "Didn't expect _that_."

* * *

The sun was high and beat down on them relentlessly as they trudged across the red desert. The swirling grit of sand burned their eyes. After a few miles, he was able to make out the mountain on which the Mag'har had established an outpost. Another couple of miles, and he was sure he'd start seeing their scouts and watchers keeping a sharp eye out over the sands.

Heat from the sun and the wind seemed to drive most thoughts from his head. All he could concentrate on was moving forward, getting them around that outcropping and through the breach in the wall that extended from the Citadel. Once they made it past that obstacle, the path up to Mag'har Post would be there.

Joanne hadn't said a word to him for quite awhile, likely as focused on getting to their destination as he was. Glancing beside him where she walked with her head bowed to shield her eyes from the glare, he couldn't help admiring her strength. She had lived a sheltered life in a tower in the mountains of a rather mild region of Azeroth, and here she was, marching without complaint across a wasteland where something hideous and foul lurked behind every rock.

When they stopped in the shadow of the wall to quench their thirst, Fentulk looked carefully at her.

"Gotta ask, Joanne," he said. "If you knew we'd be comin' through a place like this... would you still have come with me? Outta that tower?"

Joanne didn't answer for several moments, nor did she look at him. Finally taking a deep breath, she met his gaze. "Yes. I believe I would have."

Reassured, he smiled and nodded. "Good. Wouldn't wanna think... It'll get better when we're outta here. I promise."

Smiling wanly, she replied, "I trust it will, Fentulk."


	19. Meeting the Mag'har

They did not make camp even when night fell. Fentulk was too wary of predators, demons, and the Alliance to allow more than brief rests, and Joanne was too afraid to sleep in any case. The rations provided by Trukk were plentiful, though, so they did not lack for water or meat to keep them going. By afternoon the following day, with the Pools of Aggonar to their right, Fentulk was just able to make out watchers on the cliffs above.

Grinning, he said, "There they are. Mag'har." His voice was full of pride for his people. So close to seeing them again, especially in this blighted land and after such hardship, he was moved nearly to tears. Swallowing the hard lump in his throat with difficulty, he took Joanne's hand and nodded reassuringly to her.

Though she put on a brave face and returned Fentulk's smile, Joanne was anything but calm inside. She felt almost no connection to the Alliance any longer, for her early associations with the faction had been grievous. The folk at Refuge Point gave her only a brief glimpse into a nobler sort of human, but it was not quite enough to turn her completely. In truth, though the Orcs had frequently shown distrust of her presence and apparent relationship with Fentulk, they still helped her stay with him and gave him aid to return home. Yet with each new acquaintance, she feared an unwelcome end to their journey. It was this she was thinking of when his steps diverted off the dusty path.

"Should be less'n a mile from here," Fentulk informed her, squinting against the relentless sun.

"What do you expect of them?" she asked nervously.

"Nothin'. Just payin' respects, is all. Shouldn't... shouldn't be no trouble." Yet he ducked his head and didn't look at her. Perhaps it was more than a decade ago that he'd last been here, and maybe Captain Gorkan wouldn't remember, but Fentulk _had_ given his word. It pained him to be returning as promised, yet in such dire straits.

Ahead of them, carved into the red cliff face, was a rugged path up the mountainside. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Fentulk led the way up.

The path was covered in loose scree and proved difficult for Joanne's simple shoes to manage. She clung to Fentulk's hand, leaning on his arm sometimes, and tried not to fall. His own feet, bare for so long, were toughened and seemed immune to the hot sands they'd been travelling. He had an easier time navigating the uneven ground.

"Here they come," Fentulk warned in an undertone, and Joanne looked up the path sharply. Three wolf riders were galloping toward them. She gripped his arm fearfully, and he patted her hands. The Mag'har men slowed their mounts as they approached. Fentulk and Joanne stopped.

One stared down at them directly, while the other two flanked them. The woman resisted the urge to bury her face against Fentulk's burly arm, for their expressions were fierce and seemed unforgiving.

" _Dabu_ ," Fentulk said gruffly, nodding to the apparent leader.

"What is your business here?" the Mag'har growled in Orcish. His eyes flicked to Joanne. "And with one of _them_?"

"We're passing through this way," Fentulk replied carefully. "I made a promise to your captain years ago that I'd stop by next time I was able. Gorkan still in command?"

The leader slowly nodded. "Aye. Name?"

"Fentulk."

"And hers?"

"Joanne." Seeing the continued hostility in the Orc's face, Fentulk hastened to add, "We don't mean no trouble. If he don't wanna see me... us... we'll keep goin'. On our way to Garadar. It's just... I made a promise to Gorkan."

"You takin' _her_ to Garadar?" the Orc asked, raising an eyebrow and curling his lip.

"Yes," Fentulk replied stiffly.

The leader looked Joanne up and down for a long moment, his face openly displaying his distaste. That she cringed from his glowering expression seemed to satisfy him, for he eventually grunted and jerked his chin. "Come on, then." Turning his mount around, he led the way up the path at a walk.

"What did he say?" Joanne whispered as they fell into step behind the leader, his men taking up the rear position.

"Not much," Fentulk replied just as quietly. "He ain't happy about... me takin' you to Garadar."

"Can no one just... just leave us be?" she lamented half to herself. "We are harming _no one_."

"Not everyone sees it that way," he said, squeezing her hand. A swell of warmth flowed through him, hearing those words from her. As though she wished to be with him and could not understand why anyone would deny her such a thing. "Just hope we don't run into them Draenei. Good as fucked, if they catch you with me."

"It is not _fair_ ," she hissed. "I thought when you took me from that tower and... and gave me a life, I would be allowed to live it how I wished. Am I so... so naïve that I believe I should be left alone to make my own choices?"

"Nah," Fentulk assured her. "You got the same thought as anyone. Same as me. Bein' what everyone thinks yuh oughta be just... rubs wrong, yuh know? Me, I was supposed to be a warrior cause my ma was. Long line of warriors in her family. But I couldn't do that. Don't like killin' folks, I guess. Beasts, yeah, if I need to. If there're mouths to feed. If the folks need clothing. If the herds get too big and the land's threatened."

"Does your mother... is she...," Joanne faltered.

"Disappointed?" Fentulk supplied with a grin. "Nah. Not no more. Used to be, sure. She said a big, strong lad like me oughta pull my weight. So I brought her a clefthoof hide. She thought I got it from a tradesman, til I showed her the bandages."

"What happened?" she asked, a fond smile on her face.

"Well," he drawled, enjoying himself, "I hunted this clefthoof calf on my own. Mind you, it wasn't in the best of health. We do that too, you see; if they're sick and weak, they ain't gonna do nothin' but slow the herd down, make it hard for'em to move around and sorta spread their grazin' over a wide area. That's how we get an even use of the land; keep the herds doin' what they're doin', pretty much. So this calf was a weak one and needed to be taken. Me and Moke cut it from the herd and while he was after the calf's eyes, I was shootin' with my old bow." A grin spread across his face. "That calf weren't so helpless as he looked. He _charged_ me. Now a clefthoof calf's still bigger'n me, so gettin' hit in the chest ain't the end of it. He done knocked me clean on my ass about five yards away." Glancing at Joanne's surprised expression, he whispered, "Told my ma it was ten. Anyway, broke about half my ribs. But I brought that clefthoof down all by myself."

Drawing himself up proudly, he looked at her again. Her warm smile puffed him up more.

"Was that... your first?" she asked.

He nodded. "Aye. I was about fourteen, I think. Da was impressed. Said that kill made me a man." Fentulk shrugged sheepishly. "Had a... ceremony of sorts. To mark it."

"I have never seen a clefthoof," Joanne said, "but from what you describe, they must be... massive."

"Aye, they are," he nodded. "Even the little ones. A full grown bull's about as big as..."

Fentulk was interrupted by shouts up ahead, just out of sight at the top of the path where the Mag'har Post rested on a plateau. The wolf riders closed ranks, and the leader urged his mount into a run to investigate.

"What is happening?" Joanne asked fearfully.

"Don't know... maybe... Alliance?" Fentulk replied uncertainly. Taking her hand, he started to run up the path. Their guards trotted to keep up.

When they reached the plateau, half a dozen attackers were wheeling about in the air on gryphons, firing down at the Mag'har. The bow-wielding Orcs returned shots, aiming for the mounts. One was brought down, spilling its human rider to the ground in a broken heap. Fentulk shielded Joanne the best he could and hastened her to the relative cover afforded by a nearby wagon.

"Stay here," he growled, then pulled the rifle given to him by Oslight and rushed into the thick of the battle. His eyes had seen what hers had not; there were many wounded Mag'har about. They were obviously so frequently harrassed that they couldn't leave their posts even long enough to be properly healed. And the Alliance attackers were aiming for _them_ in particular, evidently to finish the job.

Fentulk could endure a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

Amidst the chaos of the battle, the fliers began to descend and dismount, clearly not wishing to share the fate of their fellow. Joanne cowered in the shadow of the wagon, not daring to so much as peek around the side, when she heard familiar words being called out.

"Stay there, lady!" a clearly human voice yelled. "We'll rout these beasts in no time, and have you safe and sound back in Honor Hold!"

So this was a _rescue_? It couldn't be! There were many opportunities to attack the two of them on the way here. Whatever their original reasons for assaulting the Mag'har, she took deep offense that they were using _her_ as an excuse for it now.

Her anger was not relieved when she saw a wounded Orc crawling – _crawling_ – from the battle, and all about him bullets struck the ground... _and him_.

 _I do not_ need _rescuing!_ her thoughts cried. _And I will not be the cause of another's death!_

There was a moment of indecision as she stared at the struggling Orc. If she went to his aid, would the Alliance stop shooting at him? Or would they continue, assuming she was a traitor? Would she die trying to help him?

As she had also risked death to help Fentulk, because it was the right thing to do?

Steeling herself, she rose to a crouch, gathered up her skirts, and sprinted the short distance to the fallen warrior.

"Be still!" she told him, knowing he likely didn't know what she said. Though he was covered in wounds from gun and bow, bleeding freely all over, she threw herself over his body and shielded his head and torso with her own. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and prepared herself for whatever decision the Alliance men would make.

What the attackers thought of Joanne's action was not learned, for the Mag'har had enough warriors in the immediate vicinity that were in good enough condition to fight, and the assault was repelled. For good measure, they took the mounts out from under the retreating survivors, sending them to their deaths in the demon-patrolled Pools below. Though Fentulk was no warrior, he couldn't deny a deep satisfaction in the victory.

Once calm was restored, Joanne rose from the prone Orc's form and nearly wept, for his breathing was shallow and labored. One of the shaman tending the wounded hurried over and began sending waves of healing energy into the Orc. Fentulk took her hand and helped her up.

"You got hit!" he cried, looking her over with alarm.

"No," Joanne reassured him swiftly. "I am well. The blood is his." Lip trembling with guilt, she whispered, "They came to save me, didn't they?"

"I hope not," Fentulk growled. "I don't think so. This kinda shit happens a lot; you heard Trukk. They probably saw you and figured they'd get a bonus for a rescue."

"Please... ask if he will live," she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears.

Nodding, Fentulk asked the shaman how the warrior fared, and was told he would recover. Relaying the information to Joanne, he found her in his arms, weeping with relief. He didn't think she would be happy hearing of the two warriors who were not so lucky, and kept the information to himself.

The leader of the wolf riders who met them on the path approached. His dark brown eyes took in the downed warrior, the healer at work, and the woman with blood soaked into her dress. He also noted the casual ease with which Fentulk held her, as though an intimacy such as this had oft been shared.

"Name's Kralok," he growled abruptly, and extended a hand to Fentulk. The two shook hands firmly and briefly. "She your mate, then?"

Relieved that the question was spoken in Orcish, Fentulk shook his head. "No. Not yet, anyway."

"Brave lass," Kralok noted. "Saved him, I'm thinkin'. Captain'll wanna know of it. Come on." Jerking his head, he turned on his heel and headed for the small fort at the back of the plateau, nestled among high rock outcroppings.

"What did he say?" Joanne whispered as she followed alongside Fentulk.

Fentulk was deeply proud of her for showing the Mag'har that not all humans were as heartless and bloodthirsty as those who came to rain death on the already beleaguered Orcs, but couldn't deny the fact that if he'd seen her throw herself into the path of danger, he would have likely made himself vulnerable to attack and possibly died. He had to remind himself that she was stronger than she looked, in many ways not so easily seen.

"Said you was brave," he told her, and smiled. "My brave lady."


	20. Keep Your Eyes on the Prize... Whoops, Wrong One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit of deviation from the actual events of "Tides of War," since I haven't read it (sad confession time), but I grasped the basic gist. Consider this to be taking place after Kalecgos has talked Jaina in off the ledge. But there's still the matter of that little Incident in her backyard...

It was a long walk from the incoming portal location in the Mage Quarter to Stormwind Keep. Varian Wrynn did not see a need to halt his casual conversation with Genn Greymane in the throne room in the rare moment of peace between entreaties by citizenry for one thing or another. He'd received the message of Jaina Proudmore's arrival and ordered refreshments; he spared a thought to wonder what became of the Horde attack she'd requested reinforcements for. Perhaps the Horde were routed and she was coming to give him the report personally? It was fortunate Anduin was present, to hear of such a glorious victory.

Overall, he was in a good mood, anticipating good news. When the Lady of Theramore strode furiously up the hall to his throne, however, the smile slid off his face.

She'd changed dramatically, her hair no longer blonde but white as snow. As she approached, he saw that her eyes were also eerily pale. Her very bearing was different as she approached his throne. Her right hook was noticeably stronger as she sent him reeling against the chair back, banging his head and making his ears ring.

" _Where were you?_ " she yelled angrily.

Rubbing his jaw and exchanging a shocked look with Greymane, Wrynn blinked. "What... I... did my men not arrive in time?"

"Yes," she snarled hotly, "they arrived in time and fought bravely. They turned the Horde assault into a rout. They shielded the city from fel magics of all kinds. They would be regarded as _heroes_ by the people of Theramore... _if any survived to praise them!_

" _Days_ before I was informed of the attack, your men captured a Horde sympathizer," she continued relentlessly in the stunned silence. "Your men broke her _easily_ , for she was no soldier. Neither was she a clever spy with ill intent. Several of _my_ _men_ were slain when the Horde rescued her and the troll she accompanied. Do you know what I learned from Shaw? When the dust had settled and I demanded answers? Your men were not asking her about _the imminent attack_! I found that you have been _chasing_ this woman for _months_ out of some paranoid fear that she threatens _you_!"

"Just a moment, Jaina...," Wrynn interjected, raising a finger. She knocked his hand aside.

"Your 'intelligence' network," she went on, "that _should_ have had its eyes on _Orgrimmar_ , that should have taken note of a mustering of the size that descended upon _my land_ , that should have _noticed_ when Northwatch fell, were chasing after this woman. This sad, broken woman clutching a troll's tusk to her breast in tears, bruised and bloody and _begging_ them to stop hurting him, _pleading_ with me to help her because your men would not hear _anything_ she said if it did not match what they _wanted_ to hear..." She paused to take a shuddering breath. "No. Your men were torturing an innocent woman and a member of the Horde for no better reason than you feared for _your_ skin. _Your_ precious hide."

"I sent men when you requested it!" Wrynn shot back. "All right, I admit my... men were diverted... elsewhere, but I sent troops! I supported your plea to the Kirin Tor for _their_ aid! You said they turned the tide..."

"Do you know how I learned of the Horde attack?" she asked quietly, yet her voice seemed to echo in the silent room. Turning to her attendant, she took a bulky object wrapped in silks. Removing the covering, she revealed Fearbreaker, the Dwarven hammer gifted by Anduin himself. Solemnly, she returned it to the young man's hands. "He no longer feels worthy to bear it, and asked me to give it back."

"Is he...," Anduin whispered, stricken. She shook her head, then turned her baleful gaze to the King once more.

"While you were hunting a woman who holds _no_ importance to the Alliance," Jaina snarled, "and your vaunted spy master directed his men's eyes to _her_ comings and goings, they should have been looking to Orgrimmar. They should have informed me of the increased military activity at Dranosh'ar. I should have had longer than a few days to prepare. I should not have been informed by a member of _the Horde_ that _the Horde_ was planning an attack of this magnitude! _Baine Bloodhoof_ sent a messenger that I might prepare myself for the coming storm!"

Wrynn recoiled almost as much as he had when she physically punched him.

"And _then_ I find your spies on _this_ continent are not minding what may be occurring in tandem to the north, because _they_ are chasing an _Orc_! One Orc! Pray, tell me what _he_ has done to offend you?"

"Never mind about that," he replied hastily. "You said the Horde forces were repelled..."

"To no avail!" she cried. "The Kirin Tor shielded us as best they could, but one of their own betrayed them _and_ us!"

"But... you said..."

"The bulk of the Horde forces were surrounded _within_ the city, for the betrayer Thalen Songweaver was not stopped in time," she snarled. "They lured us in, Varian. The Horde forces were brought to bear as _bait_. Our forces... mine _and_ yours... were in the city when Garrosh Hellscream struck."

Varian Wrynn's breath quickened as Jaina paused. She looked to be ready to fly apart with rage and... grief. Or perhaps she already had, and the woman he was seeing now was only the barely patched together remains of that explosion.

"What...," he whispered, and lost his voice.

"Gone," Jaina breathed. "Theramore is gone. There is nothing left of my people but what you see before you."

"Garrosh," Wrynn growled, beginning to shake with fury. "We will retake the city, I promise you that. This will _not stand!_ "

"Idiot," she hissed. "There _is_ no city. He saw to that. His allies did not turn away from Kael'thas without taking his craft and methods with them. They used the _focusing iris_ , Varian. They constructed a mana bomb of unprecedented magnitude." Her voice shook and she bared her teeth in furious anguish. "Garrosh dropped this bomb on Theramore. It is a _crater_. The 7th Legion, gone. My apprentice and my personal guard, _dead_. The leader of the Kirin Tor... Rhonin..."

Bowing her head, she paused for a moment to compose herself. "Thousands... _thousands_ of people, Varian," she whispered.

Swallowing, Varian cautiously began, "You said... Baine Bloodhoof... warned you. Didn't he say... _anything_... about...?"

"They didn't know," Jaina rasped. "If your misdirected spies cannot tell you, _I_ will. Garrosh does not listen to the other leaders. He has granted amnesty to the Blackrock Clan and his own Kor'kron Elite is now peopled by those bloodthirsty wretches. There is growing animosity among the leaders in Kalimdor." Shaking her head, she said, "If Baine had known of the bomb, he would have told me. He is too honorable a man not to."

Sighing, she said quietly, "I nearly followed in Garrosh's cursed footsteps. Nearly... exacted the sort of toll on the citizens of Durotar that would have seemed a necessary sacrifice to Arthas himself, but for the wisdom of Kalecgos." Taking a deep breath, Jaina glared at the King. "Your men had their eyes on _the wrong Orc_ , Varian. Point them where they _need_ to be looking. This is only the beginning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:
> 
> Troops mustering in Orgrimmar - chapters 47 and 48  
> Horde forces depart - chapter 49  
> Attack on Theramore - chapters 50 and 51  
> The Bomb is dropped - chapter 52  
> Eyewitness account from Kuadanath - chapter 67
> 
> Fearbreaker = Dwarven hammer given to Baine Bloodhoof by Anduin Wrynn in The Shattering, the book covering the pre-Cataclysm events.


	21. The Debt of the Wolf

Joanne trembled with delayed shock as she walked alongside Fentulk to the imposing fortress. The full measure of what she'd done sank in; though perhaps noble, it was terribly risky in a way that accompanying an Orc never seemed to be.

The possibility of death had eluded her awareness at the time, but now reared its head. She took many deep breaths to steady herself.

On either side of the dusty path stood domed huts of a design she'd never seen before. While the walls were dun-colored and otherwise plain, there were symbols of some kind painted in broad strokes upon them. The paint was a dark red and reminded her of dried blood. She hugged herself more tightly and trudged onward.

Though he'd shown great relief in seeing the signs of Mag'har settlement when they were far from the post, Fentulk now seemed guarded. Joanne could not begin to guess what had changed. It certainly wasn't the attack; he'd greeted the wolf rider warily even before they learned the Alliance was there.

Sighing, she decided that there should be as few secrets between them as possible. These Orcs did not speak her language; she was certain she would not offend them with careless words.

"Fentulk," she whispered.

"Yeah?" he replied quietly, glancing at her.

"These are your people, aren't they?" she asked. He frowned in confusion and nodded. "You seem to... distrust them."

A half smile twitched his cheek. "Nah, don't distrust'em. Sorry, Joanne. Orcs are... well, we're born suspicious of anyone not in our clan. Maybe we all take the name Mag'har, but we ain't all in the same clan. There's loads of refugees in Garadar that still use their old clan names, from back before the world was ripped apart. Even livin' side-by-side, they keep themselves to themselves for the most part." Sighing, he bowed his head. "Hate comin' to the leader of _any_ clan without two coppers to rub together is all. Can't give'im any kind of token of good will. About all I got that he might want is this gun, and I can't give it up. We still got miles and miles to go..." He winced and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Why would he want a gift from you?" she asked with surprise.

"It's the way it is," he shrugged. "I'm from another clan walkin' across his territory. Used to be, Orc clans fought each other for less'n that. Didn't always see eye to eye about things. Anyway, if an Orc you don't know comes into your territory, you can't tell if he's bein' friendly or spyin' on you. So... he gives the chief somethin' of value to sort of prove he's not gonna cause no trouble. There's rules, you see. Give a gift, you hold to your word. Receive one, and you gotta give'im a place to sleep, food and all. Treat'im like one'uh your own clan."

"Oh," Joanne nodded. She looked worriedly at him. "And we have... nothing."

"Nothin' I wanna part with," Fentulk growled. He glanced at her without turning his head. Not knowing Gorkan very well at all, he wasn't so sure the old Orc captain wouldn't demand something other than the gun in tribute. There were some Orc chieftains who wouldn't bat an eye at taking a night's pleasure as their due. Fentulk was beginning to think coming here was a huge mistake.

The fortress was not very large. Standing only two stories high, with guard turrets on either side of the front gate, it presented a stone façade to the more traditional huts encircled by the imposing walls. Kralok led them through the gate into a small courtyard. Outside the largest hut, a white-haired Orc was deep in conversation with an Orc woman of significantly younger years.

"Sorry 'bout this, Joanne," Fentulk murmured. "Don't wanna insult'im by translatin' for yuh."

"I understand," she whispered back.

Completely at a loss as Kralok introduced them to the stern-looking elder, Joanne tried to stand a bit closer to Fentulk without seeming to do so. There were brown-skinned Orcs all around, mostly drilling their combat techniques. The dying sunlight glinted feebly off axes and swords, painting them red as though they had already been put to deadly use.

Though Fentulk had promised not to leave her in the dark when Orcish was spoken, she understood his worry, and did not begrudge him now. She found herself looking at him often, listening to the harsh-sounding words of his tongue, wanting nothing more than to be alone with him. Far from this place, in his own land...

But they would not be alone, she remembered. They were going to a much larger village than this small settlement, where she would be the only human. She would meet his parents... and suddenly a great fear gripped her. Would his mother accept her? Fentulk's description of her led Joanne to worry that there was nothing she could do that would endear her to a woman like his mother. She was weak and soft; there was no hint of the warrior in her. Very likely, his mother would consider her an insult by just being human, and a compounded affront by being a _weak_ human.

Shoulders sagging, she bowed her head in despair.

* * *

"Fentulk, is it?" Gorkan said gruffly after Kralok's brusque introduction. The old captain squinted at the young Orc for a moment. "I remember you. Had a head full of dreams, you did. Thinking you'd conquer yourself a new land, eh? Well? What did you think of it, this new land?"

"Azeroth... has some beautiful places," Fentulk replied carefully, "and some ugly ones. Got the biggest oceans..."

"Oceans, eh?" the captain echoed, arching his brow. A slight smile curved his mouth around his worn tusks. "Ah, I remember oceans. Had'em here, once. Long time ago."

"Not many remember'em," Fentulk acknowledged respectfully. "I took ship and sailed them oceans not long after I got there."

Gorkan nodded wistfully, his eyes crinkling with good memories. Then his expression hardened again, for the beauty in his mind wasn't visible to his eyes. Not anymore.

"So oceans weren't enough to keep you there, eh?"

Bowing his head, Fentulk said quietly, "Found some'uh that ugly. Decided I'd come home."

"Not empty-handed, I see," the old captain noted, nodding to Joanne. "What's she to you?"

Taking a deep breath and preparing himself for the disdain, yet wanting to firmly establish her place with him, he said, "My mate, if she'll have me."

"Mate?" Gorkan growled incredulously. Scowling, he snarled, "You would lower yourself..."

"Captain," Kralok interjected. When he had his leader's attention, the warrior said briefly, "Alliance attacked a bit ago. She covered one of my men, sir. Saved him."

Latching onto the Orc's statement, Fentulk went on, "I don't think them Alliance fuckers was after her, but they told her they was goin' to rescue her. She figured maybe they'd stop shootin' if she was in the way, so... she put herself in the way."

Gorkan's eyes darted between the two younger Orcs, then looked sharply at the woman. She was small and frail to his eyes, but now he noticed the fresh blood on her clothes. Her eyes scanned the fortress nervously. It was clear by her distraction that she didn't understand a word they were saying.

" _She_ did that?" he barked. "Don't look like she could face a rabbit with an army backin' her up."

Kralok shrugged. "Brogor owes her his life, sir. They was shootin' at him while he was crawlin' away." Chuckling, he slapped his own upper arm where an untended stab wound seeped blood and said, "Took a hit, I was so surprised. Alliance. Savin' one of us." He shook his head in wonder.

"She's, uh... full'uh surprises," Fentulk said, half smiling.

"How'd you come by her?" Gorkan asked, his interest piqued.

He knew they'd get to this subject, and he'd dreaded it. Every retelling seemed to take him back to the shame of being captured in the first place, and the pain of what they did, all they took from him, and why he had to beg on his knees every step of the way home now. Wincing, he bowed his head and drew a shuddering breath.

"I was... captured by the Alliance," he said in a low voice. "Joanne was at that place, and... she helped me get out. I took her with me, cause... they'd likely hurt her if they knew what she did." Looking the captain in the eyes, he said urgently, "She _helped_ me. Against her own people, she helped me."

"And she followed you... _here_ ," Gorkan observed. "Why didn't she go to _them_?"

"Didn't trust'em," Fentulk replied. "She was a servant in that tower. Raised there; never saw her own world. Not _allowed_ to."

"A slave?" the old captain asked, curling his lip with disgust.

"May as well have been," Fentulk nodded. "Figured her folk would send her right back if they got a hold of her."

Gorkan looked Fentulk over, noting for the first time how the younger Orc held himself, how he stood, the look on his face, the pain in his eyes, the short bristles of hair beginning to grow back on his head and face as though it had been burned off not long ago... Maybe the young Orc had been healed to a certain extent, but he would likely bear scars that went deeper than flesh. Anger flared in Gorkan and he snarled, "Tell me the tale of your vengeance."

Again, a question he'd dreaded. Fentulk expected to hear the same thing from his ma. And he'd likely get an earful over his answer. Steeling himself, he shook his head. "I know yer gonna think I'm... weak and... half an Orc, but... I didn't do nothin' to'em. I got the fuck outta there as quick as I could. I just wanted to come _home_." A lump rose in his throat, and he begged the ancestors not to let him weep in front of this warrior. His voice shook from the strain of holding back emotions he'd long since lost control of from exhaustion, despair, and desperation. "Wanted to see my home one more time. And I wanted to show it to _her_. Couldn't do that if I took the time to hunt'em all down..." Faltering, he bowed his head. "It ain't my way, Gorkan. That ain't my way. Even if they asked for it. I had... bigger things to worry about."

Gorkan sighed and nodded. Reaching out, he briefly gripped Fentulk's shoulder. "Had to protect your woman."

"Aye," Fentulk said, relieved. "I did."

"And you love her." A slight smile curved the old Orc's mouth.

"With all I am," Fentulk replied firmly. "I do."

"She a good match then?" Gorkan asked gruffly.

"Stronger than she looks," Fentulk nodded. "Braver, too. Gotta be brave to follow somebody like me into a place like this with just a promise." He didn't need to specify the Peninsula rather than the Mag'har Post; the old captain understood.

"What did you promise her?"

Sighing, Fentulk bowed his head. "I promised her green grass and blue skies. Freedom. Safety. A life without stone walls keepin' her in." He shrugged. "I promised her Nagrand."

"With you," Gorkan suggested, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Again, Fentulk shrugged. "If she'll have me."

Glancing at Joanne, who in spite of not understanding the conversation, must have picked up the tone of their voices, Gorkan saw her looking on Fentulk with curiousity, concern, and open affection. Was she wistful as well? He arched his brow and looked at the younger Orc.

"You ask her?" Gorkan said. "To be your mate?"

Fentulk shook his head. "No."

"What's holdin' you up?" the captain asked, his brow furrowed.

"I don't want her to think... she owes me _that_ ," Fentulk said awkwardly. "I took her from everything she knew. Tryin' to... give her choices, you know? If she... if she don't choose _me_... well, she's... she's got the right, don't she. Just... want her to know she can... do that."

"Open your eyes, boy," Gorkan growled. "I don't think she'd choose anybody else. She must love you to follow you all this way to another world. One that looks like _this_. Keep to your promise, son. Take her home."

Raising his head with unmistakable relief, Fentulk nodded. "I'll do that."

"We don't have flying mounts, but we have spare wolves," the captain said. Ignoring Fentulk's shocked look, he gestured for Kralok to fetch one and get it ready. "You take that wolf and get the hell out of this shit land. Take her to Nagrand. Show her... show her what Draenor's _supposed_ to look like."

"I... I can't take the wolf, sir," Fentulk pleaded desperately. His voice shook. "I got nothin' to give you. They took everything, Gorkan; everything I had. I just got this gun and I can't... If I'm gonna protect her, I can't give it to you."

Raising his hand to quiet the distraught Orc, Gorkan shook his head. "You don't have to give me anything, boy." But he paused for a moment, and said, "Except one thing."

"Anything," Fentulk said, though his voice betrayed how guarded he was about that offer. He pointedly kept himself from glancing at Joanne. He'd sooner give himself up to the older Orc's use than allow him to take his tribute from her.

"You go ahead and make her your mate," Gorkan told him. "First son you have, you name him for me. I'll consider the debt paid."

Blinking with surprise, Fentulk gushed, "Of course. Of course. I'll do that. I promise."

Nodding, Gorkan extended his hand and shook Fentulk's firmly.

* * *

Kralok led them down the twilit mountain path then returned to his post. Before departing, he warned them to steer clear of the Draenei temple a little over a mile away.

"Probably won't shoot on sight, but you don't wanna chance it," he said.

Since he'd not made mention of his feelings for Joanne since Hammerfall, Fentulk was loathe to inform her of how he'd agreed to repay his debt to Gorkan. Still, the thought of her bearing his son pleased him greatly.

As he rode with her before him so he could protect her and direct the great black riding wolf they'd been given, his thoughts were peaceful and calm. He told her of the Mag'har captain's words of praise and gratitude for her deed.

"It was foolish," she said dismissively, yet flushed with pride. "When all was over, I was so frightened. Where was that fear when it was happening? I might have been rooted to the spot."

"Good thing you weren't," Fentulk said with a smile. "That Orc – Brogor – would'uh died if you'd been too scared to move."

"I am glad he didn't," she said quietly, stroking the wolf's fur. It was so soft, in spite of the animal's fierce face and enormous teeth. Leaning back, she pressed comfortably into Fentulk's chest and closed her eyes.

"Only a few miles left," he said, his voice rumbling low in her ear. "We get outta here, and it ain't too far through the marsh to Nagrand."

"I look forward to it," she smiled.

He couldn't help it; being so near, pressed so close... Before he could stop himself, he brushed his lips lightly on her temple.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"I do not mind," Joanne whispered sleepily. She snuggled closer, making him smile.

"Halt!" a voice shouted suddenly, and Fentulk started. Twisting in the saddle, he looked behind them and gasped with shocked dread.

Four enormous elekks were bearing down on them, each ridden by a furious Draenei.

"Fuck!" he barked, and viciously kicked the wolf's sides, urging it from its gentle lope to a full gallop. He felt Joanne tense in his arms and peek over his shoulder.

"Who are they?" she cried.

"Draenei," he snarled. "Don't care what nobody says, they catch me with you..." He let the statement hang, not wanting to give voice to his fears.

There was little reason for Fentulk himself to feel guilt with regards to the Draenei; his parents were very young children when the purging led by Ner'zhul occurred. They were of the Redwalker clan that opposed the elder shaman, and retreated to their own territory when the majority of the other clans sought the extermination of the Draenei. Only the sundering of Draenor drove them from the crumbling remains of their land to the still-fertile hills of Nagrand to rejoin with other similarly displaced clans.

Fentulk's parents remembered those days, and the horrors wrought by folk they once called brothers. He'd grown up on stories about the purging, tales told to inform young Orcs where they came from and what they might have become. Throughout his life, Fentulk found it nearly impossible to look a Draenei in the face, knowing the terrors his folk inflicted on them.

And now they were running him down. Fixing his eyes ahead, he tried to deafen his ears to their warnings.

 _So close_ , he thought. _We're so close. Just let us go. We're almost home. Please..._

His thoughts were broken by the sound of a gun, and something large and hard hit him square in the back. Fentulk instinctively embraced Joanne as the net enveloped them. He shielded her the best he could from the impact when they tumbled off the wolf. Rolling for several yards in the dust, he squeezed his eyes shut.

It was over. He'd come this far, and he would go no further.

"I'm sorry, Joanne," he whispered hoarsely. A choking sob burst from him and he lay still, holding her trembling form. "Sorry."


	22. At the End of Her Rope

Joanne had no idea who these people were. The Orcs spoke of them with dread; that was all she knew. They were more alien to her than anyone she'd seen, with their horns and the fleshy tendrils hanging from the men's chins like beards. They had legs like horses, with great heavy hooves, and _tails_. And their eyes glowed coldly blue, a reflection of their ice-blue skin.

She was terrified of them. Once freed of the netting, a female among them took her firmly by the arm and guided Joanne stumbling away to stand by one of the giant beasts on which they rode. It was massive, and sported yard-long tusks that looked capable of piercing even the toughest hide. She'd not seen one of _these_ monstrous creatures before, either. Numb with fear, she stood there trembling as they hauled Fentulk to his feet, roughly searched him for weapons, then bound his wrists behind his back. The wolf lay dead on the red sand, slain trying to protect his new master.

To her eyes, the Orc was spent. Utterly resigned, even worse than when they'd fallen among the humans at Refuge Point. His head hung low and he barely responded to their harshly delivered commands. He simply walked where they told him to walk: to the temple.

Yet they were not content with his passivity, and struck him or shoved him cruelly at their will.

Joanne they gently lifted onto the back of a beast. Once the group began moving, the female finally spoke to her. It took a few moments for Joanne to make sense of the female's words, for her accent was thick and the common tongue was clearly not comfortable for her.

"Safe now, yes?" she said behind Joanne. "Orc do you harm?"

Incredulous, Joanne glanced over her shoulder. " _No_. What is this about? Who are you?"

"Draenei," the woman said. "Saw Orc on wolf, saw _you_. Where he take you from? This side or other side?"

"Side? What do you mean by 'side'?" Joanne asked nervously.

"Portal," she replied. "You from Honor Hold?"

"No," Joanne said, bewildered. "I have _never_ been there."

"You see Obadei. Ask more."

"I don't understand you," Joanne snapped. "Why did you...?"

"See Obadei," the female insisted.

* * *

Once in the temple courtyard, the group dismounted. Joanne was carefully handed down from the elekk, but could not go to Fentulk. Guards surrounded him as though, unarmed and beaten down, he still presented a threat. She looked at their faces, and saw hate.

She did not understand _any_ of this. Fentulk was pushed to his knees and he made no attempt at defiance. He could not even seem to look at his captors. The female who'd shared the mount with Joanne took her more gently by the arm and led her away. At least, she tried to.

"Where are you taking me?" Joanne asked sharply, jerking herself free and digging in her heels.

The female Draenei blinked at her, the glow of her eyes strobing briefly. "You see Obadei. Ask Obadei."

"I will not go another step," Joanne hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I will not leave _him_ with you people."

Darting a glance at the cowed Orc, the female appeared confused. Shaking herself, she conceded, "Stay. I go get Obadei. Bring here." Then she trotted off to a low building near the gates.

There had only been one other time that Joanne was driven to the end of her tether. She'd ground those herbs with shaking hands and tear-filled eyes, cooked that stew impatiently, contemplated adding _one more ingredient_ to punish those who would not learn now any better than they did when her mother sought to educate them.

Who had they hurt? Across miles and miles, from one world to another, who in the name of the Light had they harmed? Why could no one simply let them be?

Beginning to shake with anger she rarely felt, Joanne watched a large male of these Draenei approaching. His strange tentacles were laddered with gold rings that clattered against one another as he walked in the strange, stilted way of his kind. He spared a glance at Fentulk, still on his knees and surrounded by hostile guards. He smirked, and Joanne experienced a wholly unfamiliar surge of rage. As soon as he was within range, she let him have it.

"What is the meaning of this?" she cried, startling the Draenei man. "Why were we attacked? What wrong had we committed?"

"I am told the Orc had captured you...," Obadei began, and Joanne became even more livid.

" _I was not captured by_ _ **him**_ _!_ " she shrieked. "If anyone has 'captured' me, it is _you_! How _dare_ you? _How dare you_ attack us when we had done _nothing_ to you!"

"Madam, please," Obadei urged as calmly as he could. He shot a bewildered look at the female Draenei and she shrugged. "We will not harm you. If you wish to be transported to Honor Hold or to the Portal, we will gladly..."

"You do not understand, do you?" Joanne interrupted. " _I came here_ with him. We are travelling _together_. He is my... my _friend_." Clutching fistfuls of her hair in frustration, she snarled, "Why can we not be left _alone_?"

"Come, come," the Draenei man said soothingly, "you are not yourself. Perhaps he has bewitched..."

"I have not been bewitched!" Joanne cried. "I am not being held against my will by anyone but _you_. I want _nothing_ from you but our release. _Both_ of us. _Please_."

Anger was not an emotion Joanne had long experience with, and its rampage left her bereft. Face crumpling, she burst into hysterical tears, unable to utter another word.

Most of those in the temple courtyard heard her words, including Fentulk. Anywhere else, he would have been overwhelmed with admiration and affection. Such fire! He had no idea she possessed it in such quantity. He fancied had he been closer he might have felt the heat of it wash over him. Yet he did not envy the target of her wrath.

What he did feel was strengthened. She, at least, had not given up or given in. Perhaps his inability to fight against the Draenei was due to racial guilt; she had no such constraint. While he could not ignore a lifetime of deference to an atrocity he'd not taken part in, he could at least do his damnedest to get them the fuck out of this mess.

"We ain't done _nothin'_...," he started to say, and was rewarded for it with a gun stock smashed into his jaw. The Orc's head whipped to the side and he toppled over, groaning.

" _Fentulk!_ " Joanne screamed, and rushed to his side. She pushed two Draenei men out of her way to get to him. Cradling Fentulk's head in her arms, she glared up at the one who'd struck him.

"Where were you when all my days were spent in a tower?" she hissed. "Where was the 'rescue' when my mother wept for her shame each day? _Where were you_ when I felt their eyes upon _me_?" Looking down at Fentulk's bleeding mouth and broken tusk, the deep lines of exhaustion etched in his face, the traces of burns on his head, and the bruise darkening his cheek, her eyes blurred. She gently touched his face and whispered, half to herself, half to him, "You could have left me there. What was I to you, after all?"

Blinking against the rattling in his head from the Draenei's blow, Fentulk tried to focus on her. "Everything," he replied huskily. "Always... for always. You... you were everything."

"I do not understand," Obadei said slowly. Joanne heard his great hooves approaching, and cringed. She held onto Fentulk more firmly, but did not look up.

"Where were you held?" Obadei asked. "Thrallmar?"

Joanne's fury came and went in waves. Another crested at the man's words, and she shot to her feet. Fentulk was jostled by her rising, his head thudding against the ground.

"I was not in Horde hands!" she cried. "We have sought their aid _and received it_ ; I have not been held _prisoner_ by them, not once!"

"But you mentioned a tower...," the Draenei began, only to be cut off.

"It belonged to the Alliance!" she cried. "I was held in slavery _by the Alliance_! I was a servant _to the Alliance_! I could go nowhere, could not leave the place of my imprisonment, could not go out the _door_ of the tower! All I was afforded was a view out a _window_ upon the world I was denied a part in. All for a debt, a simple _debt_ owed by my mother."

Obadei looked from her to the Orc struggling to sit up. He had no love for their kind; his family was slaughtered by them during the purging. It didn't matter that this one was of the Mag'har; he was an _Orc_.

"Will you now tell me," he growled, shifting his glowing eyes to Joanne, "that this _Orc_ rescued you from that tower?"

Lifting her chin defiantly, she replied, " _Yes_. That is what he did."

She could not tell where his eyes focused, but could feel them roaming. Swallowing hard, Joanne labored to maintain her poise.

"Whose blood is on your clothing, madam?" Obadei asked quietly.

"An Orc's," she answered stiffly. He glanced at Fentulk. "Not his," Joanne clarified. "Another's. One who would have died by Alliance hands, though he was wounded and unable to defend himself. I am _sickened_ by what I have seen of the Alliance. My mother... _my mother_ begged money for the release of her sister from SI:7 custody. She promised _anything_ to end the torture and abuse, for my aunt was... was a prostitute who had unwisely taken a criminal client." Wincing at the memory and the family shame, she pressed on. "My mother was poor herself, and could not pay the debt. Though my aunt walked free, my mother was turned over and became indentured to SI:7, until such time as her debt could be paid. There was never any hope of that day coming."

Glaring hard at the Draenei man's surprised face, she carried on. "My mother was _raped_ by the warden of that tower. She was _raped_ by half his men. She could go nowhere, beg aid from no one, seek refuge in no direction. She bore me there, and though she told me the warden was my father... he could have been _anyone_. _Where were you_ when _she_ needed rescuing? Where were _any_ of you Alliance folk and your love of the Light?

"I grew up in that tower, never setting foot beyond the door," she continued mercilessly, the group of Draenei gone deathly quiet in their shock. "My feet never touched _grass_. Because the debt _must_ be paid, even by descendents if necessary, I was held there. I labored long hours once I was old enough to drag a bucket across the floor. My mother... spared me her torment, do you know that?" she said challengingly. "When I had matured enough to begin receiving attention from the men of the tower, she... she saw to them. So that they would not seek _me_ out. Because they _must_ be satisfied, mustn't they."

"Madam, I...," Obadei ventured when she paused, but her next words cut him off.

"They captured Fentulk," she hissed, pointing at the Orc, "with little more than a suspicion that _because_ he is an Orc and _because_ he is the same color as the Warchief, he _must_ be up to mischief. They _tortured him_ for weeks, most horribly, demanding he tell them what devious aims he pursued, and hearing _none_ of his words to the contrary. When he arrived, he had such long, beautiful hair," she said, her voice trailing off as she gazed upon Fentulk. He had managed to sit and was looking up at her with rapt attention. His expressive face betrayed sorrow for her history, now revealed in all its ugliness, and such love her heart constricted with the same. Tearing her gaze from his, she snarled at Obadei, "They burned it all off. They beat him. They cut him. They broke his bones. They whipped him. When none of this gave them what they wanted, they tried to use _me_ against him!" Her fury peaked once more.

"They made such a show of abusing _me_ , raping _me_ in that cell, he nearly killed himself trying to come to my aid!" she cried. "I could stand no more. Though it was illusion, he was not able to know the difference. He begged them to spare me. _Begged_ them! He... _wept_... in despair of what he believed was being done," she said, her voice losing its strength as she recalled those days of torment. "And _I_ wept," she continued, her voice barely a whisper, hoarse with sorrow, "for his suffering, though he could not see me."

Obadei shook himself. Her story moved him, but he could not dismiss the past easily. "How is it you were rescued? What sort of bloody vengeance was committed to secure your freedom? And how can you possibly forgive him the lives lost?" the Draenei snarled, his cold eyes narrowing.

Before Fentulk could reply, Joanne raised her head, her eyes blazing furiously. "There was no blood, and no vengeance. It was _I_ who poisoned them. _I_ who mixed a sleeping draught and carried the tainted meal to them all. While they slept, we escaped." Seeing the Draenei's brow arch skeptically, she snapped, "There was no talk of spilling blood, not from _him_ and not from _me_. For the sake of my mother's memory alone, I was owed as much. But I did not take it. Neither did he."

If Obadei knew anything of SI:7, it was that the organization would likely not have let them slip away so easily. He also knew them well enough to believe every word of the woman's story. He'd never felt particularly comfortable with Wrynn's spymaster or the methods he employed. That Wrynn turned a blind eye if the more questionable practices were directed at Horde members hadn't sat well with him either. Even if most of them _were_ only Orcs and therefore deserving of harsh treatment.

Yet looking at this trembling woman, her every feature speaking of her weariness, of the hardships she'd endured, he was unsure what to do for the first time in centuries. "You travel with this... Orc," he ventured carefully. Joanne nodded. "Willingly," he added.

"I do," she replied. "If you have any goodness in you, _please_ let us go our way. He has done _nothing,_ harmed _no one_."

"His _people_...," Obadei flared, but was interrupted by the Orc's rasping voice. He sounded just as weary as the woman. Utterly defeated, in fact.

"My people," Fentulk said, his voice unsteady, "are Redwalker. My parents was little ones when... when... Redwalker clan didn't hunt Draenei. We left. Went out beyond what's now Netherstorm. We was there the whole time your folk..." He swallowed hard. "Our chieftain spoke against Ner'zhul, and he was killed. His sons, killed. His mate... The clan scattered, regrouped. Never joined the Horde. Stayed far away, until... until the world started breakin' apart."

"Absence from the slaughter does not absolve your bloodthirsty kind...," Obadei snarled, and Fentulk winced.

"Didn't have no choice," he replied. "Clan loyalty speaks pretty fuckin' loud. The clan... woulda got destroyed if we stayed. If we kept speakin' against Ner'zhul. You gotta know that. There weren't no fightin' so many of our own. No fightin' against the Legion, 'less yuh got enough to back yuh up." Forcing himself to meet the Draenei's smoldering eyes, Fentulk added, "Yuh oughta know 'bout that. Your folk've been fightin'em for a lot longer'n we have."

"My family...," Obadei hissed, then faltered. "I _saw_ them..."

Fentulk nodded. "Yeah. I know. And I know... it don't mean a fuckin' thing, comin' from one of us, but... I'm sorry. It shouldn't... it shouldn't've happened at all. You ask any Mag'har, and he'll tell yuh. We got regrets. We see Draenei walkin' in the world, and we smile, cause... cause yuh ain't all gone. You survived. We look at... at this place, Hellfire Peninsula, and we... we know we fucked up. Even if we didn't turn our backs on the old ways, we let _this_ happen cause we turned our backs on _you_. 'S'why we take care'uh Nagrand. Treat it like our ma and our pa and... love it like it's part of us." He nodded toward the red sands all about them. "We know we made this. Ain't gonna forget it. Just know we gotta make sure we don't let it happen again."

The Draenei looked away for a moment, firming his jaw, composing himself. It shouldn't matter, the apology of one Orc from the tens of thousands who took part in the decimation of his people. He should not be moved by the Orc's words, when one of his kind had so recently slain Obadei's brother, Sedai.

That it was a fel Orc, not a Mag'har, who committed the murder was of little consequence at the time. Sedai was the only family left to him. What did it matter who wielded the blade months, or decades, ago?

Seeing the Draenei's struggle, Fentulk assumed he would be on the losing side once this Obadei spoke again. Firming his resolve, the Orc said brokenly, "If... if you could just... see her to Nagrand. I promised her... Told her I'd show her my... my home. Just let her see it... that's all." Bowing his head, he whispered, "And don't... don't make her watch, eh?"

Joanne's eyes widened at his words, and she shot a look at Obadei. "No," she breathed, shaking her head. "No." Dropping to her knees she threw her arms around Fentulk's neck and held him close, sobbing, "No, no, _no_."

"Get on back, now," Fentulk said shakily, though he rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. "They'll... they'll do it quick. You don't wanna be where you can... can see."

"I followed you this far," she whispered, clutching him tighter. "I shall follow you into death, if that is where you go."

"Madam," Obadei said hoarsely, swallowing a hard lump in his throat, "you needn't fear. Nor you, Orc. My brother... Light preserve him... sought reconciliation with the Mag'har. I confess I called him fool. I reminded him of our losses, our griefs. _My_ griefs. He told me... a similar story to what _you_ have said, Orc. That the Mag'har is peopled by those who did not... partake. Who defied their own kind, their own leaders, their own... lusts... for the sake of honor. Sedai thought the time was right..." Pausing, he took a deep breath and clenched his jaw for a moment. "He was slain on his way to Mag'har Post."

Fentulk looked up at the Draenei and shook his head. "They wouldn't've. My folk wouldn't've..."

"I know," Obadei replied, raising a hand to still the Orc's protests. "It was discovered that a fel Orc – one of the Bleeding Hollow, possibly, or Bonechewer; we do not know – murdered him." Gathering himself, Obadei looked upon the Orc and made himself truly _see_ him. There was no malice in those brown eyes, no hint of the taint that greened the skin of the Orcs at Thrallmar, or reddened those more thoroughly corrupted at the Citadel. Rather, he saw remorse.

"I'm sorry," Fentulk told him. "About your brother. For what it's worth."

"Your words," Obadei said quietly, "are worth more than you know. Moreso than I expected. Perhaps Sedai..." Gesturing to the female Draenei, he said, "Release him."


	23. Worries and Strange Thoughts

Fentulk blinked stupidly as the Draenei woman cut his bonds. It didn't seem real; even Joanne's grateful thanks, spoken through her tears as she clung about his neck, did not seem real. In a daze, he threw his arms about Joanne and held her close, and did not care that his own tears could not be checked.

Standing over them, Obadei took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _In your memory, Sedai_ , he thought. Turning to the female, he said in their tongue, "What became of their mount, Vanura?"

"It was a war wolf, Anchorite Obadei," she replied, inclining her head respectfully. "It did battle in the Orc's defense. We slew it."

"They shall ride yours," he said sternly, "in recompense. They are to go free. Assemble an escort. They are to be taken to Cenarion Refuge. I trust... from there, they may find passage on to Nagrand."

"Yes... sir," Vanura said uncertainly, her brow pinching. "If it is not impertinent, why do we not hold him, at least? He is _Mag'har._ Surely an exchange of some sort..."

"No," Obadei growled. "I do not believe he is a soldier in this war between the Alliance and the Horde." Chuckling lightly, and feeling some of his tensions release, he added, "A warrior in such a bloody conflict would not take the enemy to wife."

Vanura's brow arched with surprise. "They are _wed_? She only called him _friend_."

The Draenei man gazed upon the Orc and the woman, their tears mingling as they held one another. He slowly shook his head. "Perhaps not at present. But soon enough, I expect."

"I cannot imagine it," Vanura replied. "They guard their blood so fiercely. Would they not think mixing with humans as a taint upon the fruit of such a union?"

Obadei looked curiously at her. "How came you by such understanding of the Mag'har?"

Vanura glanced away. "I have a cousin... in Stormwind. Nadezhda. She has made a study of Orcs. They are... fascinating to her." Sighing, she added in an undertone, "It is quite embarrassing."

Amused, Obadei patted her shoulder. "Think no more on it. Carry out your duties. The night will come swiftly, and we must see them to Zangarmarsh before the ravagers become restless."

Nodding, Vanura trotted off to gather a few more guards for the trip.

* * *

Still slightly bewildered by the Draenei's change of heart, Fentulk sat stiffly atop the borrowed elekk, his arms protectively around Joanne in front of him, the reins held tightly in his fists. On either side, and before as well as to the rear, were Draenei on equally imposing elekk. He couldn't help worrying that this was a dream; that he'd been slain as expected, and he was journeying to the ancestors, not his home. That Joanne was with him in this dream filled him with remorse as well as joy. She should not have had to die for him, but if she did, he was glad they made this journey together.

Except it could not be a dream. The red sand kicked up beneath the beasts' feet burned his throat; the setting sun burned his eyes. Surely in death these things would not bother him. So he must not be dead.

Joanne still trembled, for the elekk was unfamiliar and fearsome-looking. Fentulk recalled hunting one as a boy, but did not think pointing out the gore wound on his thigh would ease her fears. Perhaps later, though she had likely seen it already without recognizing what caused it. He grimaced and his cheeks darkened. She had certainly seen far more of his body than he would have liked her to see without so much as an agreement between them. His mother would be furious.

Once clear of the pass between several rocky hills, the elekk were urged into a gallop down to the road leading into the marsh. The Orc couldn't help tensing, unused to the lumbering gait of the elephantine creature. He'd _hunted_ them, never ridden them.

Due to the unexpected swiftness of the elekk across the sands, the journey was short. Within a half hour, it seemed, they were angling onto the dusty road, and not long after, the contorted brambles marking ravager nesting grounds began to appear on either side. The Draenei did not break stride or formation; the riders merely unslung their ranged weapons and readied them.

Fentulk kept his gun strapped to his back. Though he knew he was a good shot and posed no threat to the Draenei, he didn't want to make them nervous. He concentrated on keeping his and Joanne's balance on the rolling back of the elekk.

Very few ravagers dared to challenge them as they passed through the nesting grounds. Those few were quickly slain, thus serving to warn the remainder that interference with the Draenei would be dealt with. Before long, the red, arid twilight of Hellfire Peninsula gave way to blue-green humidity and startlingly tall trees of a shape Joanne had never seen before.

"Are these... mushrooms?" she gasped.

"Aye," Fentulk grinned. "We're in Zangarmarsh."

"It is so different here," she breathed, looking about her in wonder. The massive elekk were forced to go single-file across a lengthy wooden footbridge from the road through what looked to be knee-deep still water. Little islands abounded, on which grasses and strange flowers grew. And all about them were the mushroom trees, reaching so high their crowns blotted out the sky.

Before them, she saw an incongruously gnarled tree of wood, covered in what seemed to be out-of-place lichens and leaves. Ivy grew on its great trunk, and flowered purple throughout its frame. She nearly leaped from her skin when the giant tree _moved_.

"Greetings, revered Ancient," the lead Draenei called, and the giant slowly turned to face the approaching party.

Joanne could only stare, open-mouthed, as a face seemed to form itself from among the flora gathered more thickly at the top of the creature.

"Welcome, small ones," it said, its voice deep and ponderous. It loomed over the party as the elekk slowed to a stop, puffing from exertion. "Strange to see Draenei accompanying an Orc."

"We are escorts only," Vanura explained. "They seek passage to Nagrand."

"Indeed," the ancient replied, straightening. Its strange eyes, surrounded by purple flowers, lingered on the Orc and the human, the latter of the two pressing quite closely into the chest of the former. "Interesting. Proceed."

"Many thanks," the Draenei replied, inclining her head. Clucking her tongue,she urged her mount forward. The other elekk lurched into motion behind her at a leisurely walk.

"What are they?" Joanne whispered over her shoulder. She could not take her eyes off the huge creature, and it seemed to watch her with a probing, though inexplicably benign, intensity as they passed by.

"Ancients," Fentulk replied, and she could hear relief in his voice. "Don't know exactly what they are, for sure, but they're big tree spirits." He chuckled. "Guess that's kinda obvious, ain't it?"

"They are so... frightening, yet I do not feel fear, exactly," she said uncertainly. "Does that make sense?"

He nodded. "Yeah. That's what they do to me, too. Usually see'em with Druids and such. Get on well with Night Elves in general."

"Are they... from this place? From Draenor?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "They come through the Portal like everyone else. Probably 'bout shit themselves when they saw Hellfire Peninsula for the first time. Ain't nothin'... _livin'_ there. Look to me like the sort of creatures that... that would be real upset 'bout that."

"So... creatures such as they... come from _my_ world," she said hesitantly. Sighing, she shook her head. "Oh Fentulk, there is so little I know of my own land, my own people. All I have seen, all I've been shown, is ugliness and hate."

"Ain't all been that," Fentulk replied. "Remember them folks at Refuge Point? They was good to us. And here... that Obadei. I ain't gonna lie, I thought he was gonna kill me. He'd have every right to do that."

"It would not be right _or_ fair, Fentulk, no matter what your... members of your race had done," she said sternly. "You are a man of peace. I am glad he recognized that."

"Likely wouldn'uh seen it if you hadn't...," he began, and clammed up. He'd felt it, surely felt it, that she loved him, hadn't he? _Didn't_ she? _Ancestors, please_ , he pleaded silently. _Tell me I ain't dreamin' it._

"If I hadn't made such a fool of myself," Joanne finished, exasperated. "How it must have offended their ears to hear such filth. My mother would have been appalled. And quite humiliated."

"Didn't know all that 'bout your ma, and your aunt," Fentulk said gently. "You had about as much reason to kill as I did. Glad you didn't, though. Don't need blood on our hands. They'd never leave us b-..." He stopped abruptly and froze, staring ahead.

"What is it?" Joanne asked worriedly.

Shaking himself, he forced a smile. "Nothin'. Almost home. Just... think of _that_."

Unexpectedly, it occurred to Fentulk for the first time in all these days of running, that his captors might not have just let him leave. True, he'd not seen any evidence of pursuit, but had he actually _looked_?

Might they still cling to the false notion that he was part of a larger conspiracy, and _follow_ him wherever he might lead them? Cursing his stupidity, he vowed to keep his eyes open. _At least let me get her to Nagrand_ , he begged the Ancestors, _cause I promised her that._

His thoughts were interrupted by the party's arrival at the Refuge. Fentulk had only briefly passed through the encampment once when he left Draenor, but it was the same as ever. Still populated almost entirely by Druids, with a few other sorts from both the Horde and the Alliance passing through on their journeys to other regions. It was a small oasis and quite a relief after the punishing heat and dry air of Hellfire Peninsula.

To his surprise, however, there were others besides Tauren and Night Elves among the Druids. Fentulk noted Worgen and Trolls as well. An elegant Troll woman spoke with Vanura for a few moments, then approached Fentulk and Joanne as they dismounted.

"Yuh come a long way, mon," she said gently, patting the Orc's arm. "We see yuh home, but not tonight. Yuh get some rest; ah look aftuh yuh bot'. I be Ronjaty. Come on." She smiled around her snort tusks and gestured for them to follow.

The inn was spacious and open. There were no rooms, just rows of beds set dormitory style along the walls.

"Vanura tol' me yuh goin' tuh Garadar," Ronjaty said conversationally as she led them to a pair of beds side by side. "Ah tink yuh need a flight dere. Ain' gonna be a short walk."

Dropping his pack next to one of the beds, Fentulk shook his head. "We can't... I mean, we..." He faltered and bowed his head.

"We prefer to walk," Joanne supplied, touching the Orc's arm reassuringly. He smiled at her gratefully.

Ronjaty looked from one to the other and smiled. "Nah, mon. Yuh get yuhself home quick. You _and_ yuh lady. Ah take care'uh duh wyvern. Now get yuhself some sleep. Yuh bot' look done in."

* * *

Derek dumped the red sand out of his boot for the fourth time in as many hours. He'd worn a hole in the bottom and it just kept filling up. Glaring askance at the always-impeccably-dressed Amarn, he scowled.

"Don't suppose you got any more bandages, eh?" he growled. Amarn gave him a withering look.

"Very few," he replied coolly. "Had you listened, you would not have had more than two ravagers upon you."

"I was _hungry_ ," Derek snapped. "The eggs are hard to come by back home."

"Difficult to acquire _here_ as well, when you approach a nesting female with such carelessness," Amarn chided. "At least you still have your limbs."

"Hmph," Derek grumped. Only the quick application of an enchanted bandage and downing of a healing potion saved him from losing his throwing hand. Vicious little bastards.

Amarn gazed through the spy glass thoughtfully. Their quarry had dismounted before the inn at Cenarion Refuge and disappeared inside. Their 'escort' of four Draenei were already departing, on their way back to the Temple of Telhamar.

"Strange," he mused quietly.

"What's strange?" Derek muttered.

"For a man who claims allegience to the Burning Blade," Amarn noted, "and who is suspected of conspiring to assassinate the King... he certainly doesn't... carry himself as one with that sort of... baggage."

"How's that?"

Sighing, Amarn elaborated. "He has managed to talk his way out of several... delicate situations. I might have dismissed it as clever manipulation, had I not heard him speak myself." Chuckling, he continued, "Granted, those 'conversations' were somewhat different. Different setting, different context... Regardless, he didn't strike me as particularly clever. Certainly not enough to talk a load of Draenei into hauling him to Zangarmarsh."

"So?" Derek shrugged.

Casting an impatient glance at Derek, Amarn said, "You _are_ aware of the fact that the Draenei were nearly wiped out in a genocide orchestrated by the Orcs of this world, aren't you?"

Derek blinked, startled. He'd never troubled himself about the history of his _own_ world, much less that of Draenor. Didn't know, didn't care.

"Uh... really?"

Amarn rolled his eyes with annoyance. "Yes. _Really_. The Draenei are relatively peaceful people, but I promise you, if they get a hold of an Orc, he's dead. They live a long time; hundreds of years. Many of them remember fleeing from Orcs, or saw their families slaughtered by them, before the Orcs ever came to Azeroth. Ask Mishka sometime. She has nothing kind to say of Orcs, even now."

Turning his attention back to the inn, Amarn murmured, "What troubles me is that a man like Obadei, with all his reasons to disembowel that Orc where he stood, not only _let him go_ , but _escorted_ him to a neutral encampment."

"Why's that 'trouble' you?" Derek asked quietly. He didn't like it when Amarn got 'thoughtful.' It usually didn't bode well.

"It troubles me because there may... _may_ , mind you, be more to this than meets the eye." Glancing significantly at Derek, he added, "Or far _less_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:
> 
> Nadezhda – worms her way into the story in chapter 99 (available on FanFiction.net if not here yet)  
> Ronjaty – identified as Drizzul's mom in chapter 32


	24. The Promised Land

Of course, Fentulk protested the generosity of Ronjaty, but she waved him to silence and told him to go to bed. 'Duh Horde be family, Fentulk. Family look after its own,' she'd said. For the first time, it really sunk in for him. All these days of running, trying to get home to his _real_ family, and along the way, he was aided by a surrogate family that embraced him and gave of itself at every turn. It didn't matter that he had a different skin color or aligned himself to a different faction. While he considered the Alliance assistance to be sheer luck and a great deal to do with Joanne's persuasion, the Horde Orcs' reactions made his heart swell.

They helped him. They ignored his skin, saw him as a fellow Orc in dire straits, and they helped him. In spite of the company he kept, the obvious choice he'd made, they _helped_ him. And now he was a breath away from home.

He sighed deeply in the darkness, staring at the ceiling of the inn. He could hear quiet footsteps as folk retired at all hours to left and right. Beside him, he could hear Joanne's soft breaths as she slept, yet he could not find rest.

His body still ached. The stubble of hair beginning to grow back on his head, face, and body had begun to itch. Until now, he hadn't had a bath for so long he could barely stand it. How had Joanne borne his company? He grunted a laugh. Though she'd made no comment, her own state clearly bothered her, particularly when the leader of the Cenarion Expedition, Ysiel Windsinger, stopped by as they were settling in. The luminous Night Elf intimidated him instantly, not because her race had a long-standing grudge against his, but rather because she towered over him by at least a foot. He was tall as Mag'har reckoned it, but this woman was taller still. She also ignored him completely, addressing her conversation entirely to Joanne as if Fentulk wasn't there.

"Are you well?" Ysiel had asked. "I am told you have endured many hardships. How fare you?"

"I... I am fine," Joanne replied nervously. "Thank you."

"Are your needs attended to? Is there anything further you require?"

"No," Joanne answered, shaking her head. Then she seemed to think better of it, and said timidly, "Might I... that is... would there be... someplace I could... bathe?"

The Night Elf smiled kindly. "Come with me. I shall see to it."

"And... my friend also?"

Carefully avoiding eye contact or even subtle acknowledgement of Fentulk, Ysiel Windsinger nodded and replied, "Of course."

It was such a relief to scrape and scrub away the accumulated grime and sweat of weeks. Fentulk now itched for a different reason, his raw abraded skin further irritated by unaccustomed clean clothing also bought and given by Ronjaty. He added her to his rising debt, determined to repay every kindness whether the provider wanted paying or not.

Glancing once more at her, he smiled. Joanne clearly felt more confident and at her best after bathing, and seemed less worried about meeting his people, his _parents_. Yet he knew come morning, when they were mounted on the wyvern and sailing beyond the border of Zangarmarsh into the beauteous land of his people, she would worry anew.

He worried for her as well. The Mag'har weren't very open to outsiders. While not _particularly_ racist, they hadn't exactly been exposed to very many races not associated with the Horde. At least not many that did not wish them harm.

Yet things must have changed in the last decade of his absence. Thrall's work with the Earthen Ring, already a fixture in the area, must surely have brought more Shamans to Garadar for its proximity to the Throne of the Elements. Shamans could be found in most races of Azeroth; Fentulk hoped his folk would be more receptive to Joanne if they had any contact with the less hostile members of the Alliance.

On the other hand, there was his mother to consider. Kashka had been a proud and fierce warrior in her younger days. She had defended Garadar against the Ogres, the Broken, and even the odd Alliance member venturing into the Mag'har territory bent on vengeance for some perceived wrong. Likely following the same sort of orders that saw those fools attacking Mag'har Post in Hellfire Peninsula. Regardless, his ma always spoke of him taking a mate from among the Mag'har, as though it was the way of things and a foregone conclusion. When he informed her of his decision to visit Azeroth, she reminded him of the purity of Mag'har blood, and told him not to sully the line of his fathers by taking a 'tainted' Orc as a mate.

Well, he could at least say Joanne wasn't one of those.

As for his father, he never knew quite where he stood with the man. Tagdish was even more reserved than Fentulk, rarely speaking more than a few words when pressed, and keeping a thoughtful silence most of the time. The most vivid contrast he could recall was when he received the wound from the elekk. His ma bellowed and thrashed madly over his carelessness, admonishing him for trying to best a bull alone with so little experience and only an equally untrained windroc at his side. Putting himself in a precarious position that ended with Shaman dragging his body back to the village covered in blood and his ma worrying that he had lost too much to survive. He barely recalled a word Kashka said to him, so close to death had he come. Yet when her tirade was spent, she collapsed upon him and wept and begged the ancestors to spare his life, if only so she might beat sense into him.

Tagdish, he remembered, had been stone-faced yet clenched his jaw. He stood silent and immobile in the background as the Shaman healed Fentulk and Kashka advised them they were not doing enough and certainly not quickly enough to suit her. When Fentulk was conscious again and able to sit up, Tagdish only gripped his shoulder and said, 'Don't do that again, boy.' And Fentulk didn't.

* * *

The morning was slightly lighter than night in the marsh. The only difference seemed to be in the level of activity as the sleepers awakened and the inn began bustling with activity. Joanne stretched and yawned. She reasoned she must have been exhausted to sleep so soundly, for she hadn't felt nearly so safe and well-guarded as she had in Thrallmar. There, Fentulk had purposefully joined their beds and placed himself between her and everyone else. Here, he'd discretely kept himself aloof. Perhaps the presence of so many Alliance members kept him from calling attention to their association. Did he think they would try to take her away from him?

 _Let them try_ , she thought fiercely as she sat up and pulled her shoes on.

"You sleep all right?" Fentulk asked as he pulled his own boots on.

She looked at his face closely, then sighed. "A good deal better than you did. What worries you?"

Chuckling and ducking his head, he replied, "You're gettin' to know me well, eh?"

"You have a most expressive face," she smiled. "And you look terrible."

He threw back his head and laughed. She hadn't seen him do that once since he was brought to the tower. There just never seemed to be a moment... But it was good to see it now. Her own heart's burdens lightened hearing him laugh.

Taking his hands in hers, she said gently, "We are almost home."

His laughter died down and he sighed. "You ain't worried 'bout that, are you? About meetin' my parents?"

"Of course I am," she replied softly, and she was certain her own face betrayed just how worried she was. "I... I am no Orc woman, Fentulk. Surely this will... disappoint your... your mother."

Swallowing nervously, he said, "Maybe for a bit. Just has to get to know yuh, and she won't mind so much." He seemed breathlessly hanging on every word. "Joanne... you and me... we're... more'n friends, then. Is that what you mean?"

She squeezed his large brown hands. "Yes. More than... friends."

He sighed and smiled, yet asked no more. Once again, she felt a surge of gratitude. Even here, so close to his home, he still made no demands upon her, and implied no debt owed him. He had given her as much freedom as their circumstances allowed. She felt confident that, if she didn't desire him so, if she didn't _love_ him so, he would accept her rejection without question. It amused her that by releasing her, he had effectively bound her to him. She wanted no other man but him, and would accept no other. It was a strangely liberating feeling.

Perhaps because she'd ridden a wyvern on their arrival in Hellfire Peninsula and in so doing discovered and dealt with her fear of heights, Joanne felt few misgivings as the wyvern Ronjaty secured for them took wing and soared over the mushroom canopy. Even here, above the broad crowns, there was little sunlight; the land seemed perpetually in twilight.

As the beast glided easily on its route, Joanne found herself leaning comfortably against Fentulk's chest, her head resting on his shoulder. His rough cheek tickled her temple. She barely remembered his braided beard, hanging a foot long from his chin. While he'd bathed, he hadn't shaved, and his jaw bristled with new hair. She smiled and rubbed her cheek against his, listening to the rasping sound and his amused chuckle.

"It's growin' back in," he murmured in her ear. "Gonna be a rough few months."

"I've gotten quite used to you without hair," she said. "I shan't know what to do when it returns."

"Maybe not be so embarrassed about me," he grumbled without heat. "Look like the Warchief. He went and shaved his head. Looks a bit stupid, you ask me. Don't do bald so well. And them tattoos of his..."

Joanne smiled mischievously. "Come now. Say no bad thing of another's markings. You have a fair few yourself."

Blushing hotly, he muttered, "You weren't supposed to see that. One'uh those things you... you only show to... someone you got an understandin' with. 'S'why you put'em _there_."

"I think we... understand one another well enough," she said shyly. "Things being... what they were... I could not very well help seeing, could I?"

"Just don't tell my ma," Fentulk chuckled. "She'll think I was a bad boy."

"Should the subject come up," Joanne vowed, "I shall swear upon my honor that you were nothing of the sort." Poorly stifling a giggle, she added, "I do not think I could describe it very well in any case. I did not get a good look."

"Cause you're a _lady_ ," he teased.

 _I should like another peek, though_ , Joanne inwardly confessed. _Does that make me less of a 'lady'?_ All she could recall was the symmetry of the designs on each of his flanks, stretching to the front of his hip bones. They were brown, a bit darker than the rest of his skin, and nearly overlooked for how well they blended. She'd been too embarrassed by her own interest to acknowledge having seen them.

"Tell me what they are for," she said. "What they represent."

She felt his smile against her cheek. "One'uh them rites of passage. Redwalkers do it; not many others. Old tradition. When I killed that clefthoof calf. Gettin' the tattoos is part of a ceremony to mark that yer grown to manhood."

"Did they hurt? When you received them?"

"Fuck, yeah," he grunted. "Hurt worse'n gettin' rammed by the clefthoof. Can't show it, though. That's part of it, too. Gotta just... grit yer teeth and bear it."

"You bravely kept silent, I expect?" she smiled.

"Aye," he nodded, swelling with pride.

"What do they mean?" she asked. "I do not recall the symbols specifically."

"Just... kinduh meant to be the clefthoof," he shrugged. "You can sortuh see the shape of the beast 'round each... uh... just there and all. S'posed to give me, uh, a clefthoof's strength and... um... virility or somesuch." His voice tapered off into embarrassed muttering. "It's just tradition. Don't mean nothin'."

Her smile broadening, she patted his leg. "Traditions have meaning and purpose. I am certain this one is no different."

Again, his mind flashed up the image of Joanne heavy with his child, and he thought he might burst with longing. A slight spasm marred his thoughts, however. He'd promised the naming of his first son as payment for the wolf slain by the Draenei; he hadn't ridden it for long, and so hadn't formed any lasting bond, yet it still saddened him to lose the animal. As a younger man, before he left home, he'd had a riding wolf of his own. Reddish-furred and bold, more curious than was good for it just like he was then. He'd called the beast Thursha, for it was a female.

He'd had to leave Thursha behind when he left Draenor. One of the few letters he'd received from his ma told him of the wolf's passing, how it was shot by the Broken that attacked the village years ago. Not many things back in those days could bring Fentulk to tears, but he wept bitterly over that letter, and still carried it with him. Or he had done, until SI:7 saw fit to relieve him of everything he had.

Gorkan's wolf wasn't the same as Thursha. No wolf ever would be.

After a few minutes of quiet thought, Joanne ventured, "Is there... a similar rite for women in your clan?"

Setting aside thoughts of his long-dead wolf, Fentulk replied, "Yeah. Ain't never seen what they get, of course. Asked once, and my ma told me I'd find out when the ancestors was good and ready to show it to me." He chuckled and shook his head. "Still ain't gonna know, am I?"

"What must a woman of your clan do?" she asked quietly. "To earn such marks?"

"You... you want'em?" he said with surprise.

"It is no matter," she quickly demured. "I don't think I... I could not slay a beast such as your clefthoof, calf or no." Sighing, she wilted against Fentulk's chest. "I shall never be what your mother wishes for you, shall I?"

That she was worried about what his mother would think of her spoke volumes, and he smiled. "Don't you worry about my ma. Don't matter to me what she thinks. She don't know you yet; not like _I_ do." He held her closer, revelling in how she seemed to fit so perfectly in his arms. "Yuh know, I heard a woman's tattoos look like a talbuk. Ain't for sure that's it, but I've heard things."

"I've never heard of a talbuk," Joanne murmured, once more feeling woefully ignorant of his home, his ways, his world.

"Well," he explained softly, "they're real gentle-like. You can almost walk up to one grazin' and it'll let you get close. Ain't much afraid'uh you, not in the attackin' or runnin' off kind'uh way. But you corner'em, or you threaten their young, and they turn on yuh. Make a mess of yuh."

"And your girls... must kill one? To be considered a woman?"

He shook his head. "It ain't about killin', it's about... about servin' the clan. My clefthoof fed a lot of folks. The hide... well, I gave that to my ma, but she made some warm clothes and bedding out of it. The bones we used for tools and weapons. Boiled the fat for lamp oil. Ain't no part that don't go for somethin' useful."

"What must a woman do, then?"

"I don't know," Fentulk shrugged. "Never had a sister. The women keep a lot of secrets 'bout stuff like that. Ain't a man's concern, they'll say." Grinning, he added, "Makes'em more interestin', my da says."

 _You're like a talbuk_ , he thought fondly. _You're soft and gentle til you get cornered, then you come out fightin'. And I love you for it._

Gazing ahead, his heart clenched in his chest and he straightened. "Joanne, look," he said, pointing.

Looking up, she saw that ahead of them, perhaps another few minutes' flight away, the midnight blue darkness of Zangarmarsh gave way to clear, cerulean sky, green grass and _real_ trees.

"Oh my goodness," she breathed, awestruck by the beauty of the land they approached.

"That's Nagrand," Fentulk said, his voice unsteady, a lump in his throat. "We're home."

The wyvern ducked under the last of the mushroom trees and burst into brightly shining sunlight.


	25. Providing Proof to the Greatmother

The beauty of Nagrand took Joanne's breath away. After bearing witness to a land stripped of nearly all life, Nagrand was _teeming_ with it. Below them as they flew on the wyvern's learned route, the grasslands spread out from the mountain range to the north into the southern horizon. Just as Fentulk described, the trees seemed to arch and extend their thick trunks like dancers frozen in time.

"Better get Moke out," Fentulk said thickly, his voice nearly choking with emotion as he cast his summoning spell. The windroc emerged in the air alongside them, and only faltered a moment before orienting itself and soaring over their heads.

Fentulk smiled and blinked back tears, seeing his pet joyously skimming the treetops and gliding on the currents.

The dusty road that emerged from Zangarmarsh curved westward, and the wyvern followed it. Joanne squinted ahead, trying to get some sense of what Garadar looked like before they reached it, but they were still a few miles off.

"Look down there," Fentulk said, pointing to the ground. Joanne looked and saw a herd of great, brown, hairy beasts. They looked to be the size of a small house!

"What are they?" she asked in an awed whisper.

"Those're clefthoof," he replied. "Them big ones're bulls. You don't wanna mess with'em unless you're with a few others. Little one over there, that's about the size of the calf I took down."

Even the 'little one' seemed taller than a horse from this distance. Joanne laid her hand on his gripping the saddle and whispered, "How strong you are. In so many ways."

"You're strong too," he said. "In yer own way."

Smiling ruefully, she sighed. "I hope I am able to satisfy your folk. I do not want to shame you."

Frowning, he lightly took her chin and urged her to look at him. "Ain't nothin' about you that shames me. All I gotta tell'em is what you done for me. If that ain't enough, I'll remind'em that if a human lady hadn't helped Thrall, the Orcs that went to Azeroth would still be in them camps. Things like honor and... and doin' what's right... they don't belong to one race or another. You saw what they was doin', and you knew it wasn't right, and you _did somethin'_. Didn't just let it go on. So I got nothin' to be ashamed of. And neither do you."

"I hope they see it that way," she murmured, nestling into his chest. She wondered if indulging such comforts would be denied her when they reached Garadar. Would even holding his hand be considered improper? Even if she were an Orc woman, would such familiarity be disdained? She realized she had no idea what was allowed even among her own people, much less his.

But worries could not live long in the face of such tranquil beauty as Nagrand. The speed of the wyvern, which didn't seem swift enough to suit Fentulk for she could feel his eager straining to see ahead, kept a steady breeze of sweet-smelling air in their faces. As she tipped her head back against his shoulder to breathe in, she blinked. There was a chunk of earth, covered in the same lush green grass as the land below, floating _above_ them. She drew in a sharp breath.

"Amazin', ain't they?" Fentulk remarked softly. "We don't really know where they come from. Ain't found the craters on the ground where they got ripped up. Most folks think they come from the southern edge."

Furrowing her brow, she turned to look at him again. "The edge? What do you mean?"

"We're on the edge here in Nagrand. You go south far enough, you'll get to where the land stops. It just sort of... drops off into the nether. That's what happened to Draenor, you see. Ner'zhul tried to open up more portals to more worlds. More places to conquer. Feedin' the bloodlust and all. Well, he sort of... did somethin' wrong in that. Too many at once or somethin'. Our world was already gettin' torn up by the kind of magic they was usin'. Demon magic and such. The portals sort of tore it up for real. Somethin' like half our world is just... gone."

"How horrible," Joanne said.

"Aye," Fentulk nodded. "It is. Was. You won't find too many warlocks among the Mag'har 'cause of that. It was warlock magic what got us into this mess. Turned our backs on the elements and the ancestors." He shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "Ain't nobody gonna trust a warlock no more."

As the wyvern's flight path angled around a tall hill, the air whooshed out of Fentulk's lungs and he stared ahead. "There it is," he breathed. "Ain't it a sight?"

Joanne had to confess that, though she hadn't much experience, Garadar was like nothing she'd ever seen. It was a walled village, the timbers encircling the perimeter like jagged teeth. Towering over the wall were what looked to be guard posts of some kind; stripped trees with a small domed hut at the top and a wood-planked walkway spiraling down to the ground. The greenery of the land flowed right into the village, broken by dusty pathways. A broad, flat hill rose in the center of the part she could see, and atop that hill was a huge round building with red cloths draped around the upper gallery.

Even as far away as they still were, Joanne could make out guards posted at the gate where the road below them entered the village. There were wolf riders galloping along the paths within. Squinting, she could see young children playing, men and women going about their daily tasks, cookfires sending tendrils of smoke lazily into the sky.

It seemed so... peaceful. And so like Fentulk's nature that she sighed contentedly.

* * *

Almost too soon, the wyvern swooped down low over the protective walls and landed near the flightmaster and the wyvern perches next to the round building. The Mag'har woman took hold of the wyvern's reins and, noting Joanne, frowned at Fentulk.

"Who might you be?" she asked, her dark eyes flicking between them.

"Fentulk, son of Tagdish," he replied, nodding his head in greeting as he helped Joanne dismount. "Been gone awhile."

Snorting, she nodded. "Gursha. You had better speak with the greatmother, before you go a step further."

"Aye," he nodded again. "Headed there now. She, uh... she well?"

The flightmaster shrugged. "She's old. Better not tell _her_ that."

Grinning, Fentulk said, "Ain't changed a bit, then."

Gursha finally smiled and shook her head. "Nothing ever does here. Welcome home, Fentulk."

Taking Joanne's hand, he murmured the words exchanged as he led her into the great building on the top of the hill. It served many purposes for the Mag'har, but in these troubled times the council hall housed the injured and ill. The building was open on the inside, like one huge room. Mag'har Orcs came and went out the doorways, pallets lined the walls where the sick and wounded were tended by shaman, and in the center stood a hearth built of stone. Close to the warmth of the hearth sat Greatmother Geyah, spiritual leader of the Mag'har and grandmother to Thrall himself.

Fentulk always felt awed in her presence, and dropped to one knee before her, his head bowed.

The elderly shaman tilted her head curiously, then smiled. "Fentulk. You return." Her gaze rose to the nervous woman standing behind him, unsure what to do, and arched her brow. "And not alone, I see. Explain."

Swallowing, he sat in front of Geyah and gestured for the woman to sit beside him as he introduced her. Geyah watched the woman carefully and frowned; this human seemed torn between fleeing for her life and nestling up against Fentulk, seeking his protection. In fact, the urge to do the latter was strong in her face.

As Fentulk whispered the words spoken by the elder shaman to Joanne, Geyah raised her hand and shook her head. "Do not trouble yourself," she said impatiently in Common, "or we will be at it all day. I have learned the human tongue. You may speak freely."

"Sorry," Fentulk muttered, ducking his head. "Didn't know you, uh..."

"You have been many years gone, young one," Geyah said. "Much has changed." Smiling, she added, "And much remains the same. You are as quiet as ever, Fentulk. You take after your father."

Cheeks darkening, he couldn't suppress a smile. "Ma says as much."

The elder shaman regarded him thoughtfully. "Yet you differ in one thing." Her gaze shifted to Joanne, sitting anxiously next to Fentulk. "Who is this?"

"She's, uh... well, she's...," Fentulk stammered, unsure. 'More than a friend' was a difficult thing to quantify, yet he hesitated to bluntly call her 'mate.' There had been no discussion on the matter, no understanding reached. Glancing desperately at Joanne, he silently begged her for help. She seemed just as flummoxed.

Geyah arched her brow. "Fentulk, leave us."

Startled, he shot a look of surprise at the elder shaman. "What?"

"I will deal with you later," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "You bring a woman to us who is not of the Mag'har, not an Orc, and not easily explained. I will learn what I wish from her, then trouble you for the rest." Eying him pointedly, she added, "That should give you sufficient time to think of something."

Feeling quite chastened, Fentulk rose and slumped out of the building. He could not maintain any discomfort or muster any anger, though; he was _home_. Standing at the front entrance to the council hall, he drew in great gulps of the air and gazed happily over the rolling hills. His eyes, of their own accord, rose to the floating islands above Garadar, and his thoughts became wistful.

* * *

"Now then," Geyah began, shifting to a more comfortable position, "you are called Joanne and you come from Azeroth."

"Yes, ma'am," Joanne replied meekly. Her hands clasped in her lap, she wished she had something to hold, like a kerchief. Or something she could shred in her nervousness.

"What is Fentulk to you?" Watching the young woman's reaction – both the surprise at such a blunt question, as well as the blush that stained her cheeks – Greatmother Geyah narrowed her eyes.

"I do not know... quite how to answer you," Joanne said. "He is... my rescuer. My champion. My... my friend."

"From what did he rescue you?" Geyah probed.

"My... history is fraught with shame," Joanne whispered, her head hanging low. "Had he not taken me, my mother's shame would likely have been mine as well. Sooner or later."

"What shame is this?" the elder shaman asked gently.

It seemed more difficult to speak of her mother and the tower here, when the filth had spewed so readily at the Alliance outpost. She realized she'd been in an accusatory position then; now, she stood as an outsider desperately wanting _in_. She was not certain she would be granted such a boon.

Taking a deep breath, Joanne told Greatmother Geyah of her mother and the sordid circumstances of her birth. Her voice shook in the telling, as if each word were a hardship to reveal. When her tale was finished, Geyah nodded.

"Fentulk rescued you from this terrible place, then," she said. "How did he learn you were there?"

"He was imprisoned there himself," Joanne explained, and Geyah's eyebrows rose with surprise. The younger woman smiled a little. "He will likely tell you it was I who rescued him. But had he not come when he did, and had he not been so... so grievously tortured..." Joanne faltered, covering her mouth with her hand and closing her eyes against fresh tears. It took a moment to compose herself and continue.

"Had they not abused him so, I might not have been so moved to help him escape, and so not escaped myself," Joanne said. "He was innocent of what they accused him, yet they did not listen. He suffered so terribly, and still does. He thinks I cannot see, but it is in his face, how weary and pained he is. We have not had a proper rest for over a week."

"Your... 'employers' tortured him?" Geyah asked, her jaw clenching angrily. "Of what was he accused? What wrong did they think he'd committed?"

"No wrong, ma'am," Joanne hastened to say. "They suspected him of being a spy for the Warchief. Because they are both Mag'har. He did nothing to provoke them. Nothing at all."

Relaxing somewhat, Geyah eyed Joanne curiously. "Why did you free him?"

Swallowing uncomfortably, Joanne bowed her head to hide her more intimate thoughts. "He was... different. I do not think I could define it or... describe it to satisfy you. Suffice to say... I could not let another day pass without doing _something_. Perhaps... perhaps because I was made to watch them do him harm... I do not know." Shrugging helplessly, she added, "How could I _not_ aid him?"

 _That is not the only reason_ , Geyah thought.

"What did they do to him?" the elder shaman asked softly, watching every twitch of Joanne's face, and marveling at how much pain was caused by reliving the suffering of Fentulk. As the woman slowly dissolved into tears, relating the burning, whipping, and beating received by the Orc, Geyah felt two things. One was the enormous pride in the strength Fentulk possessed, to endure such harsh treatment. The other was the unexpected satisfaction in seeing a woman, regardless of race, so deeply in love with a man as Joanne clearly was with Fentulk.

"How often did you see him?" Geyah asked.

"I was allowed to bring him food and water twice in as many weeks," Joanne said brokenly. "After that, I saw him... many times. But not to feed him. To watch what they did. And... to be used against him."

Frowning, the elder shaman said, "What do you mean, 'used against him'?"

Bowing her head in shame, her voice barely above a whisper, Joanne replied, "They blindfolded him and... created the illusion that... that they were... raping me. In the cell. To torment him." Heaving a shuddering breath to keep from breaking down anew, she continued, "He had, perhaps foolishly, demanded that I be left alone. He begged them to... to punish him instead. It was _him_ with whom they had a quarrel, not me." She shuddered at the memory of their hands holding her, covering her mouth, urging her silence... "He strove to protect me, though he was chained and could do nothing."

While this news infuriated the elder shaman, on both their behalfs, Geyah was also filled with pride in Fentulk's honorable conduct. _Yes_ , she thought fiercely, _one of ours would be that brave in spite of all._

"How, then, did he free you?" Geyah asked. Remembering Joanne's words, she amended with a wry smile, "Or was it _you_ who freed _him_?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," Joanne replied demurely. "I used a recipe of my mother's, and put everyone in the tower to sleep. They took their meal, then they fell. We were able to leave."

"He left them alive?" the elder shaman asked, arching her eyebrows.

Recalling Fentulk's discomfort when challenged by Gorkan, as he told her of it later, Joanne urgently pleaded, "We simply wished to get away as quickly as possible. Please do not condemn him for it. It is not his way to do harm, no matter how deserving."

While there were many among the Orcish race whose reaction to such torture would have been to murder all of the tower residents in their drugged sleep as soon as the chains were off, Geyah had always known this was not Fentulk's way and would never be his way. It pleased her greatly, and spoke even more to his strength, that in spite of all he'd endured, he remained true to himself.

"I am pleased, Joanne," Geyah assured her. "He has not changed in that, at least. I wonder that these people who enslaved you – though you do not use the word, your tale speaks strongly of it – and tortured a son of the Mag'har, would simply let you both escape without even an attempt to recapture him, at least."

Joanne stared blankly at Geyah for a moment, then her brow furrowed and she looked away. After several moments of thought, she finally looked at the elder shaman and shook her head slowly. "I do not know. We... we ran, of course. But we never noticed... I do not think either of us even considered..." Stricken, Joanne went on, "We were intent upon meeting with Fentulk's friend. She had promised to aid us; provide passage to the Portal. If any followed... we just don't know. _I_ do not know." Raising a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with horror, Joanne whispered, "What if they have followed us all along? What if they are still in pursuit? We have led them here!"

Geyah watched the mounting distress in the woman and felt inexplicably pleased. _She is selfless,_ the elder shaman mused. _Thinks of others and their concerns. This is good._

"We did not intend to bring trouble with us," Joanne pleaded. "I am so sorry."

Raising a placating hand, Geyah said reassuringly, "Our warriors are strong. Our defenses are without equal. You have come to the Mag'har with Fentulk; you are one with us now. You shall have our protection." Suppressing a smile at the hopeful expression on the woman's face, Geyah asked, "Do you wish to stay with Fentulk?"

The question was not unexpected, and Joanne had prepared herself to answer it, no matter who asked. In truth, she felt she had answered it many times already. Taking a deep breath, she held herself straight and nodded. "I do. I... I love him."

A smile spread across the elderly Orc woman's face. "Indeed you do. Have you told him?"

Deflating somewhat, Joanne shook her head. "No. Though he has never spoken a harsh word to me, I have to him. Relations between us are better now. I understand him better, at any rate."

"You have come to love him," Geyah said gently.

"He is a good man," Joanne replied fondly. "He has given me so much. I... I can never give him enough."

"I think your love will be plenty," Geyah smiled. Catching the eye of a nearby attendant, she gestured for Fentulk to be fetched.

Relieved to be called back, Fentulk prepared himself to sit before the elder shaman once more, but she stopped him with a casual wave of the hand.

"I am satisfied," she said. "You have my support. Get you to your family now, Fentulk. I do not think your mother would be pleased that you have waited so long to greet her."

Grinning as he helped Joanne to her feet, Fentulk replied, "All I gotta say is I came to see you first. That'll smooth them feathers."

"Flatterer," Geyah teased, her cheeks darkening somewhat. "Also from your father."

Fentulk smiled more broadly and winked, then left the council hall holding Joanne's hand.


	26. Reunions

Fentulk's springy step faltered quickly as he led Joanne down the path to his parent's home. People were staring at her and whispering. Some he recognized as neighbors and waved to them. Though curious to see him after such a long absence, they only half-heartedly returned his gesture but did not approach. He hoped Geyah would convey to the Mag'har that she'd welcomed Joanne and their wary glares would disappear.

"I am not welcome," Joanne whispered sadly. "My presence has ruined your homecoming." Fentulk squeezed her hand.

"Nah. You just got here," he reassured her. "Give'em time. I don't much feel like talkin' to nobody but my family anyway. This lot'll have to wait."

Joanne was not so sure time would be enough. She would have to prove herself to these people, and she had no idea how she was to go about that.

The path they walked curved down the hillside on which the council hall stood, and crossed a footbridge over a merrily gurgling stream. In spite of the tension she felt all around her, real or imagined, Joanne could not ignore the tranquility of Garadar. Though there were guards in the towers and at each gate, and a training ground boasted dozens of Orcs sparring with wooden weapons, the village did not seem to be overtly on a war footing. Garadar was simply peopled by Orcs carrying on with their lives.

It was at the training ground that Fentulk stopped and grinned. Stepping up to the barrier enclosing the pitch, he raised his voice and barked in Orcish, "Oy! Kashka! Got a minute?"

Joanne scanned the Orcs until she found an Orc woman of mature years trading swords blow for blow with a much younger Orc woman. Blocking and shoving her opponent back a step, the elder Orcess turned and looked, annoyance at the interruption clear upon her face. So shocked was she in seeing Fentulk standing there, she received an unexpected blow across the back from the younger Orc.

Rather than scold the woman, Kashka praised her. "Good. Take advantage of your opponent's distraction. Now pair up with Gorlin over there and continue." Leaving her student to her lessons, Kashka strode across the pitch and hopped over the barrier.

Her eyes scanned her son up and down, then she scowled. "Too busy with your adventures to write, were you?"

Sighing, Fentulk shook his head. "Sorry, ma. Mail don't go easy through the Portal. You know that."

"Hmph," she snorted. "Could've hauled your own ass through it easy enough. Twelve years, boy. _Twelve years_."

"Sorry," he muttered even more quietly.

"Twelve years," Kashka breathed once more, then she threw her arms about her son's neck. Fentulk tried very hard not to break down in tears as he embraced her in return. He also tried not to wince at her strong grip. The injuries he'd suffered hadn't been entirely healed, and he was sore all over.

Kashka held him close and fought her own emotional battle. It wouldn't do to lose control in front of those young warriors. Stepping back, she looked Fentulk over again, and caught his discomfort.

"What's wrong with you?" she snapped. "Too grown up for a hug from your ma?"

"No," he grimaced. "Too _hurt_ for a hug from my ma."

"Why? What hap-...," she began, then noticed the meek woman standing in her son's shadow. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "Who's this, then?"

Nervously, but not so nervous as the woman beside him, Fentulk urged her forward. "This is Joanne. She's, uh... a friend."

Kashka's eyes flicked between them. Maybe she hadn't seen her son for over a decade, but she knew a bald-faced lie when she heard one. "Is she."

To her surprise, Fentulk turned to Joanne and spoke a different language to the woman, who offered Kashka a weak smile.

"She does not speak Orcish," Kashka growled indignantly.

"You can teach her," Fentulk said. "We all can. She'll learn."

"You speak _her_ tongue," his mother retorted accusingly.

Trying hard not to roll his eyes or sigh, both of which he'd learned at a young age would earn him a slap for sassing, Fentulk said, "I worked on a neutral ship. Had to deal with Alliance passengers all the time. Had to learn it. 'S'why I know it."

His mother folded her arms over her chest impatiently as Fentulk whispered his translation to the human. When she had his attention again, she asked, "Aren't the Orcs of Azeroth at war with the Humans there?"

Fentulk nodded. "Yeah. One of the reasons why we came here. That... and I just... I wanted to come home, ma." A wave of pain crossed his face, and he looked close to tears. Kashka's arms slowly lowered.

She seemed to see him for the first time. Looking closely, she realized how near collapse he was. Exhaustion and despair had nearly claimed him, and were writ upon his face in dark circles under his eyes and the telling absence of hair. While her son was riddled with faults inherited from his sentimental father, he had never wept in front of her. That seemed about to change at any moment.

Raising her hand to his cheek, she gently urged him to look at her. "What did they do to you, Fen?" she whispered.

Fentulk pressed his cheek into her hand and closed his eyes for a moment. "They hurt me, ma. But it's done now. I'm here, and I ain't never goin' back there."

Curling her lip, Kashka snarled, "The Humans, you mean. _They_ hurt you. And you stand here with one of them..."

"Ma," Fentulk cut her off, holding up a hand that shook slightly. "Joanne _helped_ me. And I been helpin' her. She came all this way... all this way with _me_." His shoulders sagged and he bowed his head. "Don't expect you to... accept'er right off, but... at least try, all right? Please?"

Kashka's eyes narrowed. "She's your mate, isn't she?" she hissed.

Glancing away uncomfortably, he muttered, "Not yet."

"Well, there's hope left, then," she snapped.

"Ma," Fentulk said evenly, and this time his eyes held a spark of defiance. "It don't matter to me what you think of her. Hate'er all yuh want for not bein'... your kinda woman. I don't love an _Orc_ woman; I love _this_ one. I'm gonna ask'er to be my mate soon as things settle down for us and we can rest. Ain't nothin' you can say about it. If that means... I gotta... find someplace else tonight... for me and her..."

His firm expression was breaking along with his voice, as though he barely had the strength left to stand against her in anything but this. Kashka took a shuddering breath. "No, son," she said quietly. "I haven't seen you in years and I... I'm out of sorts. You go on down to the house... with your... lady." Her gaze fell upon Joanne; though the woman didn't understand what was being said, she knew tone of voice well enough to be close to tears. She turned to Fentulk and whispered something in his ear that made him blanch.

They exchanged a few whispered words, and Kashka grew impatient. "What are you two on about?" she growled.

Brow furrowed angrily, Fentulk turned on his mother again. "She don't think you _like_ her," he snarled, and Kashka was taken aback. He'd _never_ spoken harshly to her; she had to admit it was refreshing to see some backbone in the boy where she was concerned. "She don't think _you_ think she's good enough for me."

Kashka snorted. "She's _not_. No one will _ever_ be good enough for my son." Yet if Fentulk cared so much for this little bit of a thing that he would defy _and_ raise his voice to his own mother, there must be something about her he valued. Relenting a little, the Orc woman shrugged. "But if you love her, then... well... I suppose she'll have to do."

Fentulk fought to suppress a relieved sigh. It was likely all he'd ever get from his mother, but it was more than enough. "Thank you, ma. Where's da?"

"Fishing," Kashka replied, grateful for the change of subject. "That is what he does most of the time." Frowning thoughtfully, she mused, "I think it is to get away from _me_."

Smiling and shaking his head, Fentulk said, "Nah. He just likes to fish."

Shrugging and hiding her own smile, Kashka said, "Go see your da. Show him your lady. If he says she can stay, she can stay. And I imagine you'll be wanting your own place soon."

"She ain't my mate, ma," Fentulk reminded her, his cheeks darkening.

Darting her gaze to the woman, Kashka caught a look given to her son that could mean only one thing. Narrowing her eyes at Fentulk, she snapped, " _Why_ is she not?"

"I ain't asked her," he replied awkwardly, taken off guard.

His mother puffed up indignantly. "What's wrong with you, boy? You love her?"

"I do," he nodded, slightly bewildered by her sudden change.

"Well, she clearly loves you." Kashka gave him a _most_ impatient look. "Don't be a fool. _Ask her_."

"You... you think so?" Fentulk asked hesitantly.

Rolling her eyes, Kashka snapped, "Oh my goodness, you've gone blind. _Open your eyes_."

"I didn't wanna assume nothin'," he explained, though inside he felt a surge. Could it be true? Had the hints he thought he saw been real? "It's been a hard... a hard time. I took her from everything she knew. She couldn't go back. I didn't want her to think she owed me... _that_ , you know?"

Kashka nodded. "I understand. Perhaps better than you do. I don't think she looks at it as _owing_ you. She just loves you. It's all over her face, with every look she gives you." Sighing, his mother shook her head. "I've always wanted to see such a gaze fall upon you. I never imagined it would come from someone who isn't one of us."

"That kinda thing don't matter, ma," he said quietly. "Not to me, and not to her."

"Give me time, Fentulk," Kashka said. "Until it no longer matters to me, either." She held his gaze for a few moments longer than was comfortable for her, then straightened smartly. "Get on home, now. Tell your da I expect bluefin for supper and I'll not accept anything less if he's going to spend all his waking hours casting a line."

"I'll do that, ma," Fentulk assured her with a grin.

"Fen," she said, and her chin quivered slightly with the effort to hold herself steady, "welcome home."

He nodded, and led Joanne back to the path. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his mother step over the barrier back onto the pitch, rubbing her eyes as though she'd gotten dust in them.

They continued alongside the stream until it ended at a large dwelling consisting of two large, two-story domes with big round openings on the second level of each one. Like the smaller huts at the Mag'har Post, there were broadly painted symbols in deep magenta on the outer walls. The doorway of the right-hand dome was open, and Joanne could see straight through a similar doorway on the opposite wall. Fentulk's steps had quickened on reaching his home, and he led her straight into the right-hand dome.

In the center of the hut was a stone hearth similar to what was in the council hall only smaller, and the round room was wide open. Above the hearth, a hole was cut in the ceiling to let out the smoke of cooking fires. A table stood against one wall along with a few small stools. Fentulk halted just inside the doorway and looked about him, drinking it in.

Nothing at all had changed. Down to the barrels of various foodstuffs, the bags of flour, the racks of drying fish, his da's traps and snares hanging on one wall like a monument to his younger days of hunting for the good of the village...

How Fentulk had longed to use one of his da's old traps as a boy! None of his own, acquired or built by his own hand, could hope to compare.

"Fentulk?" Joanne ventured timidly. The place was empty, but not unlived in. Though the things within were familiar, many were less sophisticated than what she'd seen at the tower. Cooking utensils were carved from wood or shaped from bone; bowls and cups were made from fire-glazed clay and painted in earthen colors; cookware was fashioned from hammered iron. Every item was made by, and used by, loving hands, rather than cast in a mold like a thousand others exactly like it. They were part of the lives of those who lived here. It was clear to her that this was a _home_ , in ways the tower could never have been. She wanted very badly to feel that it was _her_ home as well. Perhaps in time, it would be.

Shaking himself, Fentulk smiled. "Sleepin' room's in here," he said, nodding toward a doorway leading to the other domed hut connected to the kitchen. The main floor was covered by rugs of once-bright colors, now faded by age and foot traffic. A thick pallet of bedding lay along one wall; clearly where his parents had taken to sleeping nowadays.

"Up here," he directed, and Joanne's gaze rose to the platform that formed a second level. Supports of rough-hewn wood held up the flooring, and a ladder provided access. Eager as a young boy, Fentulk scaled the ladder as he'd done so often in his youth. Memories assailed him, seeing his old bedding, clearly kept fresh and clean by his hopeful mother all these years against the day he'd inevitably see the error of his adventuring ways and come home.

He only remained lost in fond recollection a short time when he realized there was no place but _here_ for Joanne to sleep. In moments she'd ascended the ladder and stood at his side, staring down at the bed and likely coming to the same conclusion.

"I'll, uh... I'll take da's hammock out back," he said awkwardly, letting his pack slide from his nerveless hand onto the floor. "You'll be all right here, I expect."

Laying a hand on his arm, Joanne said quietly, "I do not mind sharing with you, Fentulk. I would not dream of keeping you from your own bed."

Meeting her eyes searchingly, he said, "You sure?"

A slight smile curved her mouth. "Quite sure."

"You, uh... you don't _have_ to," he insisted.

"I would feel... more comfortable, I think," she replied. "This is a strange place to me, with people I do not know. You are familiar and... I trust you."

He took the pack from her hands and laid it next to his own. "All right, then. Let's go find da."

Helping her down the ladder, he tried not to think about spending the night in his own bed with the woman he loved. Though he knew better than to imagine any invitation would be extended, and he honestly didn't think he had it in him if one was, just the thought of holding her in his arms eased a great deal of his tension. Taking her hand, he led her back to the kitchen, then through the rear doorway.

Behind the house, a dozen paces brought them to the edge of a steep slope. His family's home was built hard by the stream, and to their left the water rushed over the edge in a gushing waterfall. He picked his way down the old path that knew his feet so well, and aimed for the white-haired Orc sitting cross-legged on the bank, holding a fishing pole and watching the bobber undulating on the surface.

At his approach, the elder hunter glanced over, but if he was overjoyed to see his son again, he didn't show it. He returned his gaze to the stream, a half smile curving the side of his mouth Fentulk couldn't see.

Without a word, the younger Orc sat on the bank beside Tagdish, and offered a hand to the woman with him, helping her to sit on his other side. Then Fentulk also fixed his eyes on the bobber.

Before long, the feathered cork bobber dipped sharply underwater and came back up. Tagdish's eyebrows raised slightly. He waited for two more pulls before reeling in his line in a leisurely fashion. At the end of the line, a mudfish wriggled and squirmed. Tagdish made no comment and uttered no complaint for the poor quality of his catch; he simply unhooked the fish and tossed it back into the stream.

Fentulk chuckled quietly. Nothing had changed at all.

"Yer home now," Tagdish said conversationally.

"Aye," Fentulk replied, nodding. "Home for good."

Nodding with his eyes still fixed on the sun-glistened water, Tagdish commented, "Got a mate, I see."

"Not yet," his son said with no little embarrassment. He'd inherited his father's reticence; the subject of mates, either seeking or living with one, had never been a topic they explored. Kashka saw to Fentulk's 'education' on such matters. Tagdish taught him how to hunt far less mysterious prey.

"Better get to it," Tagdish said. "Ain't gettin' any younger."

A smile curved Fentulk's lips. "Ain't _that_ old, da."

Tagdish snorted. "Not talkin' 'bout _you_ , boy. Wanna see some grandkids. So you get to it."

"Gotta ask'er first," Fentulk said, barely suppressing his amusement, or his blush. His father gave him a sideways glance.

"Whatcha waitin' on?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Fentulk shrugged. "The right moment."

"When you think that's gonna come?" Tagdish asked mildly.

"Wanna take'er up to one'uh them islands," Fentulk replied.

"Ah," Tagdish nodded. "That'll be a good time."

"Yeah," Fentulk agreed. "'S'what I was thinkin'."

"You pack some food and bring some comforts," Tagdish advised. "Blankets and pilluhs and such."

Chuckling a bit, Fentulk asked, "Think I'll need all that?"

"If it's anything like when I took your ma up there the first time," Tagdish recalled, "you'll need alluh that. Or you'll wish, all yer life, that you'd brought it."

"Little rough on yuh, da?" Fentulk grinned.

Tagdish smiled. "Was a younger man then. Didn't much care. Yer ma reminds me of it every once in awhile, though." Glancing at his son and winking, he added, "All she's gotta say is 'roots in my back,' and I know what she's talkin' 'bout."

Leaning back on his hands, Fentulk found his gaze rising to those islands. "You make me on one'uh them?" he asked quietly, half to himself.

"Might've done," Tagdish nodded. "Might'a gone there a lot of times. See that one up there?" he asked, pointing to a fair-sized island off in the distance. "That's mine. You pick yer own."

"Always kinda liked the one with the bones," Fentulk mused, pointing to a free-hanging chunk of earth. The lower part of compacted soil had the bones of some long-dead animal poking out here and there. It might have been an ancestor of the clefthoof; it was difficult to tell.

"That's a good one," Tagdish said appreciatively. "Got a tree. Awful pretty. Grass is soft."

"Yeah, it is," Fentulk agreed. His father glanced at him.

"You ain't taken nobody else up there, have you?"

"No," Fentulk replied. "Ain't taken nobody to any of'em."

"That's good," Tagdish nodded. "You should only take one, and make her a good one. If she followed you all the way here from that other world, I'm thinkin' she's a good one."

"She is, da," Fentulk said confidently, his chest swelling with surety.

Noting his son's tone, Tagdish nodded. "S'all I need to know."


	27. The Trial of the Talbuk

"Your homeland is very peaceful," Joanne commented as they made their slow way around the hill back to the house. Fentulk purposefully took the long way, along the lower level to a footpath further along. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, children were playing, his parents had accepted Joanne...

"Aye," he replied with a grin. He squeezed her hand. "Good to be home."

They continued on in comfortable silence. Joanne's gaze drifted far, for there was so much beauty in the land, and the village's elevation afforded her a broad view of it. She could see the great clefthoof herds grazing in the valley below; her eyebrows rose, seeing the same giant tusked creatures the Draenei rode, traveling in groups in the wild. They seemed somehow less... warlike and hostile, without the trappings of ownership in the form of harnesses and saddles. She could see them as beautiful animals now.

"Fentulk," she suddenly asked, "what does a talbuk look like?"

Halting, he said thoughtfully, "Lessee..." The herding animals often came close to the walls of the village; though the Mag'har were known predators in the area, they were intelligent predators, and took nothing from their prey that could not be afforded. There was no needless slaughter, and often the Mag'har walked or rode among the herds without threatening them. So the herds saw no reason to avoid the Orcs. Only a few moments' search bore fruit.

Pointing, Fentulk said, "Down there. See them animals with the tall horns? Kinda like horses? Them's talbuk."

"Oh," she breathed, smiling. Their sleek coats shone in the sun as they grazed. She could make out tan and black, but mostly they were white. "They are lovely."

"Aye," he nodded. "We been trainin'em for ridin' for years. Orcs'll always want a wolf mount, but other folks kinda like them talbuk. Make'em look kinda regal, I suppose. Real tall."

"I can see that," Joanne replied. "They are most elegant animals. I like them."

Before they knew it, they had meandered their way back to the house, and found Kashka already there. She was stripped to the waist outside, splashing water from the rain barrel over her sweaty head and torso. Taken aback at the Orc woman's unabashed nakedness, Joanne averted her eyes. Even Fentulk looked uncomfortable.

Kashka dried her face with a linen cloth and turned to them. Frowning, she put her fists on her hips and snapped, "I embarrass you now, do I?"

"No, ma," Fentulk sighed. "Just ain't used to it no more. Give _me_ time, eh?"

"Hmph," she snorted, glaring at the flushed woman. "Wash yourselves for supper." Then she stomped into the house.

"Sorry about that," he told Joanne. "Shoulda warned you. Things're kinda... relaxed 'round here. Sorta... open."

"I am sorry," she replied in a small voice. "It was rude of me."

"Nah," he said, dipping his hands into the barrel and splashing his face. "Things're different. I gotta get used to it all again, too. Least it wasn't da. He likes the summers cause he don't gotta wear drawers 'round the house." Snickering, Fentulk shook his head as he stepped back to let Joanne wash herself. "That'll wake you up of a mornin', seein' his bare ass in the kitchen, stirrin' the pot." Glancing mischievously at Joanne, he added, "Stirrin' up ma, too. She don't think he oughta be flashin' his business around."

Joanne giggled and covered her mouth, her eyes twinkling. In spite of the completely embarrassing thought of seeing the old Orc in the altogether as a matter of routine, she couldn't help but laugh with Fentulk about it. He seemed to be casting aside the grim mantle that had smothered them both for so long. It felt good to laugh, even over something as disconcerting as a naked Tagdish cooking breakfast.

The elder Orc had managed to follow Kashka's orders and produce a fine catch of bluefin for their supper. Though awkward and uncomfortable, particularly whenever she looked at Tagdish now, Joanne sat between Fentulk and Kashka, trying not to feel like an intruder on the conversation in Orcish going on around her. Though Fentulk kept her informed with whispered translations, she still felt like an outsider looking in. Looking in and not seeing anything she recognized.

"What's this about?" Kashka suddenly snapped, and her tone alone made Joanne cringe.

"Just what he said," Tagdish replied with a shrug. "Takin' her up for his askin'."

Kashka narrowed her eyes and leaned around Joanne to fix them on Fentulk. "Does she know what it means?"

"No," Fentulk replied quietly. "And I ain't expectin' her to... I just wanna show'er my home. I promised I'd show it to her. Take'er up and show'er. Maybe... if it feels right... thought I might ask her. But that's all."

Giving her son a withering look, she snarled, "I expect you won't say no should other things come up. You're hoping they _do_ , aren't you?"

"Yeah," he confessed with a defeated sigh. He bowed his head and nodded. "Yeah."

"You'd better tell her, then," Kashka insisted. "Tell her what it's about. What it means to go to one of those islands with a man. You be honest with her." Muttering under her breath, she growled, "Ancestors know, it ought not be you telling her these things. It ought to be her mother. Failing that, it should be me."

"You _can_ ," Fentulk said, relieved that there was an option other than him. He didn't think he could look Joanne in the eyes and tell her _this_. "Greatmother Geyah speaks her tongue."

"Well, I think your Joanne and I may just pay her a visit tomorrow," Kashka said briskly. Then she shot him another suspicious look. "Will she be sharing your bed? Is that why you haven't asked for a spare to be laid out?"

Fentulk's eyes widened and his cheeks darkened. "Uh... didn't know you had a spare, ma."

Casting her gaze heavenward, Kashka lamented, "What is _wrong_ with you men? Can you never _ask_?" Glaring reproachfully at him, she said, "You go to your own bed _alone_ until she accepts you. I did _not_ raise you to bed a woman who hasn't."

Looking away uncomfortably, he muttered something she didn't quite catch.

"Speak up, boy!" she barked, startling poor Joanne between them.

"I already done it, ma," he growled more loudly, his face darkening even further.

"What's this?" Kashka nearly shrieked. "Have you already 'made your mark' upon this poor woman, without so much as a by your leave?"

"It weren't her, dammit," Fentulk snapped, then winced. _Oh fuck_ , he groaned.

"I see," Kashka hissed. "I see. That is how things are done in Azeroth, is it? You leave your home, and it isn't just your family you turn your back on, is it? You ignore everything I've ever taught you, and go whoring yourself all over, is that it?"

"I didn't _whore_ myself!" he barked. "I was just lonely, all right? Didn't have nobody so much as _lookin'_ at me for years and _years_ , then this lady comes along and... I weren't thinkin'!"

"Oh, you were _thinking_ ," his mother snarled. "Just not with your _head_. And what would your innocent maid here think of _that_ , I wonder?"

"She knows," Fentulk replied sullenly, staring at his half empty plate.

Kashka's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Does she? How in the world did the subject come up, I wonder? Did she meet the other woman herself?"

"No," her son snapped. "Somebody I _thought_ was a friend went and told her... uh... told her I was... collectin' human women for... for..." His already darkened cheeks nearly turned black from embarrassment.

"And she was _human_!" Kashka bellowed. Fentulk winced. "Tagdish, talk to your son."

Startled from the distant mental lockdown he'd been hiding in, Tagdish tried to pick up on the conversation again. "Did you, um... this other woman... You see her for a long time?"

Fentulk wished he could just sink into the floor. "No," he muttered. "Just a week."

"So... not really... a lastin' thing, eh?"

Shaking his head, Fentulk said, "It was just... just sex. That's all. Joanne knows about it, we done talked it out, and she ain't threatened by it. I ain't never gonna see that other woman again, _and I don't want to_." Meeting his mother's angry glare, he said, "Ain't nobody got hurt by it."

"I did not raise you that way," Kashka hissed. "When we see the greatmother, I _will_ ask, and there had better be no pain in her heart from what you did, Fentulk."

"I didn't even _know_ her yet," he growled. "Can't it just... just die? I ain't proud of it. I was weak and wanted... something. She didn't have what I wanted. I went lookin' for it, and I found Joanne. I paid in _blood_ for her, ma, and if you bring this shit up again, and I lose her..." He firmed his jaw and glared hard at her. "I ain't never gonna forgive you."

"If there is _pain_ in this woman's heart," Kashka insisted, pushing down the grief his threat inspired, "you will _mend_ it. She will not pay for _your_ mistakes."

"Never asked her to do that," Fentulk growled quietly. "Did the best I could with mendin' already. If there's more I gotta do, I'll do it. I'll do _anything_."

Kashka jerked her chin in a swift nod. "You're damn right, you will. Tagdish, you silly oaf, fetch a pallet and linens for the poor woman. And if I catch you wandering about the house in the morning without pants, I'll cut it off, I swear!"

* * *

"I do not understand," Joanne whispered to Fentulk as Tagdish arranged a bed for her on the main floor. "Have I done something...?"

"Nah, it ain't you," Fentulk sighed angrily. "Ma's mad at me cause... well, I told'er about Karie. Thinks I hurt you by doin' that." Faltering and looking intently at her, he said earnestly, "It's all right now, between us, ain't it? You don't still... you ain't still mad, are yuh? Cause if I gotta do somethin' else to make it up to you, I swear on the ancestors, I'll do it."

He seemed so serious, and more concerned about her feelings than his mother's wrath. Joanne smiled fondly at him. "I am not angry with you, Fentulk. Not about anything." Gesturing helplessly at the bedding, she shook her head. "But this I do not understand. Can we not be together? I would feel more... comfortable, I suppose, with you near."

"No," he growled sullenly. "Not yet, anyway. Not til... Well, we ain't proper mates, you see? Ma don't hold with me layin' with a woman I ain't mated to. Even if all we wanna do is fuckin' sleep for a year."

"That is why she was so angry with you," she replied with sudden understanding. "About Karie."

"Yeah," he nodded. "Every word outta my mouth dug me in deeper. Like always."

"I will try not to make it worse," Joanne reassured him, and he shook his head.

"She's gonna take you to see Greatmother Geyah tomorrow, and I don't want you feelin' like you gotta tell lies to keep me outta trouble," he insisted. "You just say what's in your heart, tell'em how yuh feel. Forget about me for a bit, all right? Just think about you."

"It is not easy, forgetting about you," she said shyly. "But I will speak the truth of my heart for them, if that is what they seek."

He struggled to suppress a pleased grin. "That's all you need to do."

* * *

It was a long time before Joanne found sleep that night. The unfamiliar sounds of the village, clearly heard through the open portholes and doorways of the wattle and daub hut, kept her on edge. Worrying about what would come the next day, when she would be spirited away from Fentulk for the first time in days, kept her wakeful. Only a dozen paces away, Kashka and Tagdish lay huddled under the thick animal hides in their bed. Above her on the second floor, she knew Fentulk must be lying awake as well, for she could not hear his usual snores.

What would they ask her? What more proof of her commitment to Fentulk was required? Perhaps... if she were his mate? Would that be sufficient? But then... how did one become a mate?

She knew what the word meant, in a broad sense. What she lacked was an understanding of what it meant to Orcs. From what she could gather, it was terrifically important. Only with the status of mate could she share a bed with him even in a friendly sense.

Except... she had to admit to herself, if to no one else, that she did not want to do so in a 'friendly' sense. These last few days, their physical closeness stirred pleasant feelings in her. Sharing the wolf, she had felt the hardness of his member against her body, and was pleased. _I know what_ _ **that**_ _means, at least_ , she thought, _and he was that way because of_ _ **me**_ _._

She felt desired and wanted. Every time he touched her, she found herself wondering if he was roused as he had been before. She wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him. And when she was certain none could see her face and possibly read her thoughts, she wondered what it would feel like to touch him. All of him. All over.

Such thoughts made her long to be beside him, in his arms, feeling his hands upon her. And other things besides.

But not here. The realization that anything that happened in the hut would be heard by all within it stifled her desires. Glancing toward the elder couple's bed, she silently thanked the Light that they were too old for such play.

Though... neither of them had particularly lined faces. They did not look _ancient_. True, Tagdish had white hair, but that may as easily be his natural color. Kashka's hair was beginning to grey, but was mostly a reddish hue. Beyond that, both seemed spry enough. Her gaze shot over at their bed once again.

Asleep they may be, but Joanne was suddenly fearful that they might wake at any moment and seek pleasure from one another. What would she do if that happened? In short order, she found herself nearing a panicked state and neither of them had so much as turned over in their sleep!

Stilling her thudding heart with calming breaths, Joanne sought to distract herself by thinking of benign things. There were few to be had. Everything seemed to lead to thoughts of Fentulk, which led to imaginings of them lying together, and inevitably to him kissing her. In the dim shadows of her thoughts, he did other things to her that were too embarrassing to acknowledge. But they felt good. Very good.

Was it wrong to want him so? Was it wicked of her to find her thoughts wandering back to the tent in the mountains, when she woke to find his manhood exposed and rigid? To think of it and feel desire?

Perhaps it was best to keep her distance from Fentulk in the night after all.

* * *

Kashka only allowed Joanne a crust of bread and a strip of jerky before leading her from the family home and up to the council hall. She'd spoken at length to Fentulk while Joanne ate, often glancing thoughtfully at the woman.

Joanne was nervous; though Fentulk nodded encouragingly to her, and even Tagdish gave her a wink and a smile, she still feared what might be. If she did not give satisfactory answers, would they send her away? Was this morning's brief exchange with Fentulk the last she'd have with him? Hugging herself, she tried not to give in to despair just yet; her fears were likely unfounded.

The council hall had been nearly empty when she and Fentulk arrived the day before, but this morning there were several women present. Most were Greatmother Geyah's age; wizened grandmothers with stern faces. A few were of Kashka's generation. To her surprise, they were not here by coincidence; they had assembled by Kashka's request.

Greetings were exchanged in Orcish, and Joanne felt terribly out of place among them. She clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head, trying not to be noticed. After a few minutes of banter, Geyah came to stand beside her.

"I will speak Kashka's words to you," she said quietly. Grateful, Joanne tried to follow Kashka with her eyes, and Geyah with her ears.

"This one seeks a place among the Mag'har," Kashka announced, her tone formal. A few of the women snorted and others grumbled muted protest. "Joanne is not one of us," Kashka acknowledged, "but she has given her heart to my son, and he has given his to her. She risked death to save his life. She cast aside her ways and her world to follow him to this place."

Scanning the elders and finding no argument, Kashka continued. "It is my son's wish that Joanne be accepted among our people. Has she earned the right of the trial? And if she succeeds, is it then agreed that she will be marked in the way of the Redwalker clan and accepted as Mag'har by bond if not blood?"

Joanne furrowed her brow at Kashka's translated words. Darting a look at Geyah, she found the elder shaman's face impassive, as though nothing Kashka said was of particular note or any different than what had been said many times before. Her own mind could not hold on to anything but the word _trial_. What did this mean?

She was clearly the only one who didn't know; the women conversed quietly among themselves, some arguing, others nodding or shrugging amiably. Soon enough, one among them, who seemed only slightly Geyah's junior in years, stepped forward.

"What has she to offer the Mag'har?" the elderly woman asked. "Any can bear young. What is her gift, if not this?"

Another of the older women interjected. "I do not want to see the half-breed mongrels she spits out. We are _Mag'har_. Our blood is pure and untainted. We do not accept a greenskin among us; why would we open our arms to a paleskin?"

"She will show her worth in the trial," Kashka snapped. "That is its purpose. But if you must have proof, I am told she shielded one of our wounded warriors from an Alliance attack at the Post in Hellfire Peninsula."

"A tale told by your _son_ ," the old woman scoffed.

"Do you question his honor?" Kashka roared, her hand going to the sword hilt at her hip. The old woman narrowed her eyes hatefully, but did not rise to the warrior's challenge. "I thought not. He also said she stood against the Draenei on his behalf. They thought to 'rescue' her from the clutches of an Orc, and would have slain him before her eyes, had she not spoken for him."

This revelation seemed to stir the doubters among them to more whispered debate. The old woman appeared to be looking for something in Kashka's words to turn upside down to her advantage. Her elder, who had voiced the first question, spoke again.

"It is not easy to see the selfless woman in this meek figure before us," she said carefully. "I wish to see her strength. She may stand the trial. I am satisfied she has earned that, at least."

"And if she succeeds, Agunta?" Kashka pressed.

The elder nodded. "She may be marked as Redwalker." The old woman puffed up to protest, and Agunta held up a hand. "Your opinions are known, Magu, and need not be endlessly repeated. It is not _your_ clan that speaks for her."

Though the one called Magu seethed, and rendered no doubt among the elders that she was against the proceedings, she heeded Agunta's words and kept her silence.

No further debate was entertained. Kashka fetched a rope from a nearby stack of crates, barrels, and other supplies, and the entire group filed out of the council hall.

Joanne walked at Geyah's side, but was too bewildered and frightened to ask more about this mysterious trial. The need for a rope filled her with fear; was she to be hung? Must she endure the terror of looming death to satisfy the Mag'har? Or was she to be bound and forced to withstand cruel tortures? Panicked sweat stood out on her forhead as the procession wound its way down the hill and out of the village.

Had she not been gripped by fear, she might have marveled at the thick grasses and graceful trees as they traversed the grasslands, or stared in awe at the mighty clefthoof herd that grazed so near she felt dwarfed and insignificant.

The group halted in the shade of a mighty tree. Several of the older women sat down and fanned themselves. Joanne shifted nervously, her eyes frequently going to a low branch of the tree towering over them.

"The Trial of the Talbuk begins," Kashka announced solemnly, and Geyah repeated in common to Joanne. "The supplicant shall fetch a talbuk foal of our choosing." Turning to Joanne, she gave forth the length of rope, draped over both her hands. Joanne nervously accepted it. Then Kashka turned and nodded to Agunta.

The elderly woman stepped forward and gazed across the plains. Perhaps a hundred yards away, a peaceful herd of talbuk grazed unconcernedly. Agunta's eyes squinted over the distance for a moment, then she nodded. "The one nursing. That shall be the chosen to satisfy the Redwalker clan." Several heads nodded agreement.

Joanne blinked when she received Geyah's translation. She was to pry an infant from its mother's breast? Even to an animal, this was cruel! Yet if she did not, her place among the Mag'har must surely be forfeit. And with it, any hope of remaining with Fentulk, for he would certainly choose his people over her.

How could she _not_ agree? How could she possibly _agree_? Torn as she was by internal conflict, she was easily turned by someone's hands – possibly Kashka's – and urged to walk toward the herd. Her breathing quickened. To commit such a grave sin as this... was Fentulk worth it? After all she'd endured already, was it asking so much to take one talbuk from its herd? It was a small thing, wasn't it? Did the Mag'har not train these animals? Had they not likely done similar things many times? Would they not care for the foal she captured? They seemed so kind in all other respects, she could not imagine that they would be unkind to this foal.

Before she knew it, Joanne found she had reached the herd and froze. They were, indeed, quite tall. Their heads alone were a few feet higher than hers, and their horns towered another two feet above that. Shaking herself, and firming her resolve, she skirted the tall animals, carefully avoiding their horns as those grazing lifted their majestic heads to eye her suspiciously, and made her way to the chosen foal.

It had, thankfully, finished its meal. Though she'd decided Fentulk was worth a sin upon her soul, she didn't think she possessed the strength of will to pry the poor thing from its mother's breast. With shaking hands, she clumsily wrestled the rope loose, finding a loop already tied.

"Forgive me," she murmured as she carefully lowered the rope about the curious foal's neck. "Forgive me," she told the mother staring balefully at her, yet making no threatening move. Joanne cinched the noose firmly about the foal's neck, then slowly backed away.

Two things happened then. First, the foal did not understand what was expected of it when a rope about its neck was pulled, and it resisted. Not only did it stiffen its legs and dig its hooves into the ground, it bleated in protest.

The second thing to happen was the sudden protective fury of the mother when it heard its young's cry. Joanne barely dodged the horns as the mother talbuk swung its head around, aiming for the threat.

All Joanne could think to do was run, the rope clutched in her hands. The foal continued to squeal, though its weak young legs could not withstand Joanne's desperation. She dragged it along, trying not to hear its screams for they sounded uncannily like those of a human child. Tears streaming down her face, she hastened to outrun the now infuriated mother, calling to its child like any parent would.

The entire herd was in turmoil now, and their panicked running in all directions slowed down the mother's pursuit. It also made it difficult for Joanne to make much progress. Yet she persevered, reminding herself this was important, it was for Fentulk, it was for _her_... and she wavered.

The foal's desperate screaming and resistance filled her thoughts, and she knew this was not right. It was not in her nature to cause suffering, but to sooth it. She realized that no matter what was at stake, no matter how deeply she loved Fentulk or how much she wanted to spend all her life with him, she could not begin a life of happiness with a stain upon her soul so great as this. She could not go against her own morality any more than Fentulk could in the tower, when those who had wronged him were laid out helpless. It was not in his nature to slay an unconscious foe, and it was not in hers to do _this_.

Halting, Joanne reeled in the rope until she was next to the terrified foal, and began untying the rope. Her fingers slipped nervously on the knot as she loosened the noose. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the mother finally breaking through the frantic ranks of the herd and furiously galloping toward them, its head bent for ramming. Whimpering in a desperate panic, Joanne quickened her efforts until just at the last moment, she pulled the rope from the foal and staggered back. The foal sensed its freedom and darted away.

The mother halted as soon as its young reached it. Joanne felt a smile form on her face, watching the mother snuffle the foal, examining it from head to toe to ensure it was well. Once satisfied, the mother talbuk glared at Joanne with clear annoyance, snorted at her, then headed back to the gradually calming herd, its foal trotting unconcernedly, and forgetfully, by its mother's side.

While she felt relieved and pleased that she had not shamed herself by her own measure, Joanne dreaded the walk back to the elders of the Mag'har. Surely her failure to accomplish so simple a task would mean her banishment. Nausea overwhelmed her and tears filled her eyes. Would she at least be granted the boon of bidding her love farewell? As she neared the group, all of them standing expectantly beneath the tree, Joanne forced herself to hold her head up. She would face her fate with dignity, for she had been true to herself. She could be comforted by that, at least.


	28. Worth Fighting For

Fentulk did his best to give Joanne an encouraging look and nod confidently when she left with Kashka that morning, but once her form disappeared around a bend in the path up the hill, he'd nearly collapsed with worry.

"Da," he lamented, rubbing his eyes furiously, "what if she fails?"

His father paused in his task of selecting the lures he would employ in the day's fishing and glanced out the door thoughtfully. "Son, I don't pretend to know nothin' 'bout what the women get up to in their rites. 'S'their business, ain't it? 'Bout all I know is, some'uh them tests they do... failin' and succeedin' ain't measured the way men look at things."

"Don't know what yer talkin' 'bout, da," Fentulk grumbled. "It's a test. She passes, or she fails. What if she fails, eh? They gonna do what ma said? They gonna send her away?"

Tagdish shrugged. "Like as not. 'S the way'uh things."

"Well," his son growled angrily, "she ain't goin' alone."

"That's what yer ma's afraid of," the elder Orc said calmly, going back to rummaging his tackle box. "'Fraid you'll bugger off again. Only this time, yuh won't come back."

Faltering somewhat, Fentulk frowned. All the time he was in Azeroth, there was always at the back of his mind the intention of returning home. It was the fuel that kept him going over the last several weeks, seeing his home and family again. Was his love for Joanne, his need for her, his commitment to her, so great that he would turn his back on his people? He didn't know the answer to that.

"Whatchou mean, da?" he asked. "Long as... as I ain't banished, I can come back, can't I?"

Tagdish shrugged. "Ain't about that, I reckon. She don't think you'll be able to. Where yuh gonna go with Joanne, eh? To the Alliance? Could be. Maybe they'd take yuh. Maybe not. Maybe kill yuh on sight. Gotta say this for'em; they's color blind. Don't matter if yer a greenskin or a brownskin. They look at yuh and see Orc. And figger they'll get a reward for bringin' in yer head." Glancing significantly at his son, he added, "Been known to do that, some of'em. Leastways, it's what we figgered, findin' headless corpses here and there."

Swallowing hard, Fentulk bowed his head. "Guess it don't matter, then. Dyin' out there, or dyin' here, inside, cause she's... she's gone."

"Aye," Tagdish nodded. "'S'a shit choice, ain't it?"

"Yeah," Fentulk agreed.

"She worth it?" Tagdish asked, looking up from his lures.

Nodding firmly, Fentulk replied, "She is. Worth cuttin' my own heart out and handin' it to her." Then he snorted and half smiled. "Feels like I already done that."

"Mmm," Tagdish mused, "'At's how it feels. Don't think women know what they take from a man." Grunting a laugh, he began arranging his selections on the table by color. "Some fellas I know'll say they take his balls. Ain't so. Got mine right where I left'em."

"Where's'at, da?" Fentulk asked with a chuckle.

"Cheeky bastard," his father chided good-naturedly. "Man finds only one who makes him whole. And part of that is the woman gettin' made whole by _him_. By my reckonin', just wantin' a particular woman ain't enough. She gotta want you too. And not just for sex." He narrowed his eyes at his son, and Fentulk ducked his head. "Don't tell yer ma this, but I ain't mad at yuh fer that. Yuh done what any man would... any _woman_ come to that... what's been away from home and feelin' alone and such. That kinda thing happens, and it ain't nobody's fault."

"I wish it hadn't," Fentulk muttered. "Shoulda... shoulda been patient, you know? If I'd known someone like Joanne was just... so near..." He glanced up at his father. Tagdish was grinning.

"Boy, yuh didn't even know you was ready to look 'til that woman woke yer ass up," he chuckled. "Would yuh've left that ship if she hadn't bedded yuh?"

Sighing, Fentulk shook his head. "No. Does that make me a bastard?"

"I don't think so," his father shrugged. "Yer ma may have a different thought on the matter, but we ain't talkin' to her right now. What _I_ think is that you found somethin' missin', and maybe yuh wouldn't've seen it if she hadn't pointed it out to yuh. Women got their ways, specially when they don't know they're usin'em." He winked and grinned.

Smiling a little, Fentulk asked, "How come you never talked to me about this kinda thing, da?"

Tagdish chuckled. "Think I could get a word in with yer ma around?"

"Reckon not," his son laughed.

"She didn't steer yuh wrong or I woulda had words with'er," Tagdish assured him.

Fentulk sighed and looked out the door. It was still early; he had a whole day ahead of him to accomplish what he'd wanted to do for awhile now. While nothing seemed to have changed in Garadar, he _had_ been gone for twelve years. Some things might have.

"Da, we still do our offerin' to the ancestors at the Throne?"

"Aye," Tagdish nodded. "You be careful going over there, though. You see any fightin', you stay out of it."

Frowning, Fentulk looked curiously at his father. "Fightin'? Why would there be fightin' at the Throne of the Elements?"

Tagdish gave his son a surprised look. "Ain't you heard? When'd you leave Azeroth, boy?"

"Been here a couple days... maybe three," he replied. "Can't remember. Why?"

"Horde dropped a bomb on some place called Ther'more or somethin'. A _mana_ bomb, they say," Tagdish explained, and shook his head. "Bigger'n the one that flattened that whole section o' Terokkar and made it look like the Bone Wastes."

Fentulk nearly fell backwards off his stool. "Theramore?" he gasped. "A _mana_ bomb? What... how? When was this?"

"Maybe right when you was comin' through the Portal," Tagdish mused. "Ain't been long. But them shaman at the Throne... you know they're mostly from Azeroth. Horde and Alliance both. Usually set aside their grievances and whatnot. After word got out 'bout the bomb, though, there was fireworks aplenty across the lake."

"Fuck," Fentulk muttered, and once again his gaze shifted out the door. He'd wanted to make his offering there, as was tradition. Before the Sundering of the world, before the Orcs became corrupted, they gathered at Oshu'gun to commune with the ancestors. Because that place was no longer available to them, they went to the Throne. It was always a peaceful place, even when several shaman were gathered there in conference.

"I got no choice, da," Fentulk said. "I asked the ancestors for someone like Joanne. I begged them a few times to help me, and... even if... even if I ain't gonna see'er again, I gotta thank'em."

Tagdish nodded and patted his son's arm. "Just mind yerself. Don't need to tell yuh, I'm sure, but... be careful. It ain't our fight. We got plenty of our own problems without gettin' in the middle of shit goin' down on another world." Thinking about it for a moment, he added, "Never told yer ma about it. Didn't want her worryin' 'bout yuh over there. Knew you was on a neutral ship, but... sometimes war don't let you stay that way. Glad yer home, son."

Rising from his seat, Tagdish stretched. He picked up his tackle box and pole, gave his son a nod, and left through the back doorway.

Fentulk could barely believe it. Who better than Garrosh would know about the devastation of a mana bomb? How could he condone such an act? How could he have _ordered_ it, for surely he must have? Fentulk shook his head. He hadn't thought he knew the Warchief well when they were in Garadar together; he knew him less now that Garrosh was beyond the reach of his people.

He felt a bit nauseous, imagining how things might have been different had any of the people who helped him and Joanne on their journey been aware of what Garrosh had done.

Shaking himself, Fentulk rummaged around the kitchen for the things he'd need. To begin with, he needed a small leather pouch, a glass vial and a metal bowl. These were easily found; his parents threw nothing away. _Never know when you'll need exactly that thing_ , his father always said.

Containers in hand, Fentulk first went to the hearth and used tongs to remove a glowing coal from the breakfast fire. Then he scooped some dusty earth from the threshhold of the front doorway. Going out the back way, he went to the banks of the stream where it reached the edge of the rise on which his parents' house rested and climbed on the rocks. Here he gathered water in the vial as it leaped over the falls.

The last item he'd pondered for a good while, but could think of no better source than his own pet. With some concentration, he was able to detect Moke outside the village, likely hunting up his own breakfast. Smiling, Fentulk called for him and began walking up the path.

After a few minutes, his windroc swooped down toward him, landing on his outstretched arm. Fentulk stroked the bird's head.

Through symbollic imagery, he conveyed to Moke his need for one of the bird's feathers. At first, Moke glared at him indignantly and gave the distinct impression that pecking Fentulk's eyes out would be the likely response to any attempt at removing his plumage. Expecting no less, Fentulk added an image of the Throne of the Elements. His pet hadn't been there in a long while, but he knew the place and what it meant. Animals seemed to have a much greater affinity for the elemental spirits than people did.

When put in those terms, Moke consented to having a long feather plucked from his tail. Though it likely only stung for a second, the windroc still nipped Fentulk's wrist hard enough to draw blood before lifting off once more and flying off somewhere to preen and hide the loss.

Chuckling at the vanity of his pet, Fentulk took his offerings to the dock and borrowed a small rowboat to make the crossing. Skysong Lake was deep and wide; it would take nearly a day to walk around it to the Throne. Most people either flew there on wyverns or took a boat. He could have asked his da for the use of the family wyvern, but offerings to the ancestors were not made in the way most convenient to you. It didn't even occur to him to ask.

Fentulk's thoughts wandered as he rowed. Now that he was truly home, he knew he should be more relaxed. Perhaps if he'd come alone, he might be. As long as Joanne's fate, so intertwined with his own, remained uncertain, he would continue to fret. He didn't want to leave Garadar again, he confessed. These were his people; this was his home. Yet how could he call it home if the one who completed him wasn't here?

* * *

Very few shaman were communing with the elemental spirits when Fentulk arrived, for which he was grateful. A couple of Tauren and a Night Elf, none of whom seemed to be at odds with one another, clustered together in a focal grouping at one end of the small island. He breathed a sigh of relief and left them alone.

A low table made from a slab of stone had been erected for use as an altar many years ago, and bore the stains of his forefathers' offerings. Some chose to slay beasts upon it, while others favored more benign gifts. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, for his thoughts were still upon Joanne and what might be happening to her, Fentulk knelt before the altar and took out the things he'd gathered.

In the center, he placed the still-warm coal in the metal bowl. To the left of the bowl, the pouch with earth from his family's home. To the right, the vial with the liveliest water that flowed past. Above and encompassing the other three, he lay the long tail feather from his windroc.

"I am Fentulk, son of Tagdish, son of Kagdush, son of Sraruk, son of Nakor, son of Lorkus," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Honorable sons of the Redwalker Clan. Humbly do I call, gratefully do I offer thanks. I bring water from our falls, dancing with life. I bring the dust of our threshhold, that has seen many generations of our family cross. I bring the heat of our hearth, where our folk have gathered in love since time beyond memory. And I bring a feather from my windroc, who flies free in the land of his birth, as I do now. A boon was asked for, and a great gift given. Whether given for a lifetime or a... a moment, I...," he faltered, his voice choking off. Bowing his head and swallowing the sudden wave of grief, he continued, "I'm... glad to have... to have known her... even for a moment."

Roughly rubbing his eyes, Fentulk struggled to compose himself. He was startled to hear a voice, not spoken by one of the shaman at the Throne, but in his own mind.

_Fentulk, son of Tagdish, man of peace. You have proven yourself worthy of the clan Redwalker._

Blinking, Fentulk looked around, as though expecting to see the spirit of his ancestor, but there was no one near.

"Was I bein' tested?" he asked.

_That you were. You have been tested many times on your journey. All that plagued the Orcs of Draenor generations ago – bloodlust, power, desire, vengeance, hatred, selfishness – you have faced and overcome. These things do not rule you, so they cannot destroy you._

Fentulk didn't know what to say. He'd heard that sometimes the ancestors spoke when entreated, but he'd never heard one himself. He bowed his head in awed reverence. "Always tried to... to be a good man."

_So you were. Even when facing hardships and temptations, you remained Fentulk as he has always been – a worthy Orc, a brave Redwalker, an honorable man. One deserving of all he seeks._

Though his ancestor's words filled him with pride, it was brief. His thoughts were consumed with Joanne and her fate. Swallowing, Fentulk said cautiously, "I seek Joanne. I love'er. Can't... can't live without her. But I need my folk, my family, my clan..." He fought against his raw emotions. His exhaustion and weakness from the journey had not been resolved by one night's sleep, and his worry over Joanne made it difficult to remain stoic now. "I don't know what to do. If she fails..."

_Fear nothing, Fentulk. Fear... nothing..._

The voice faded into nothing, leaving Fentulk feeling alone and unanswered.

* * *

Joanne stood in front of the elders with her empty hands clasped before her. She held her head up high, determined to face her fate with some measure of dignity. Her eyes strayed past them, over their heads, to Garadar on the hill. She tried not to think about Fentulk.

Several women put their heads together and conversed in low tones. It would not have mattered if they shouted; Joanne could not understand their tongue. She blinked back tears as Kashka approached with Greatmother Geyah at her side. Joanne could not bring herself to look them in the eyes, yet one brief glance at Kashka's firmed lips and furrowed brow told her Fentulk's mother was offended by Joanne's failure. The realization that she'd disappointed the formidable woman stung worse than any rebuke.

"She returns empty-handed," Magu sneered. "Girls half her age are more successful."

Out of respect for Joanne's feelings, Geyah chose not to translate the elder's words.

"I remember your trial," Agunta chuckled. "You stirred up such a maelstrom with your clumsiness, you were forced to slay half the herd to secure the foal."

Magu shrugged unconcernedly. "I got the foal. That cannot be denied."

"You _know_ that is not the purpose of the trial," Geyah reminded her reproachfully. Magu folded her arms defiantly over her chest and turned her back on the Greatmother. Narrowing her eyes, Geyah declared, "Magu, your voice will no longer be heard in this."

The old woman merely glanced hatefully over her shoulder, snorted, and looked away again.

Sighing, Geyah gestured to Agunta. "You may proceed, eldest of the Redwalker."

Agunta nodded and approached Joanne. Standing in front of the nervous woman, she glanced at Geyah to make sure the elder shaman was prepared.

"We will hear your words," Geyah translated as Agunta spoke. Joanne met the elder's eyes. "What were your instructions, child?"

Though she held herself rigid and seemingly proud, the woman was clearly close to tears. Joanne swallowed and licked her parched lips, then took a deep breath. "I was told to fetch a talbuk foal."

"That is correct," Agunta nodded. "Yet you return without. Explain."

For a moment, Joanne could almost hear once more the slamming of the cell door in the tower. With every clang of the metal door, she feared her next visit would find Fentulk closer to death, or already there. Though it was cruel, what the men were doing to torment him, she almost looked forward to being called forth and brought into the cell, if only for the great relief she felt in seeing that he remained alive and within reach.

The remembered sound now seemed to tell her she was already beyond hope of ever seeing him again.

Shaking herself, she replied huskily, "It is not my way... to tear a child from the arms of its mother. That... the child was an animal... made no difference. It... it cried. It's mother... so peaceful... was enraged. I could not... I just could not." Bowing her head, Joanne bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

Geyah repeated her words for the elders, who conferred once more. Kashka, maintaining as indifferent a manner as she could, still managed to appear hostile and angry though she felt neither of these things. Agunta exchanged a look with Fentulk's mother and nodded.

"What consequences did you believe would result from failure in this task?" Agunta asked through Geyah. A whimper escaped the woman and she covered her mouth with her hand.

Joanne took several moments to compose herself, for her grief was already upon her. "I... am to be... cast out," she replied shakily, "lest I bring shame upon... upon Fentulk."

Agunta's face remained passive as she said, "If you believed this would be the result, why did you set the foal free?"

"It is not... my way," Joanne whispered, "to commit such a terrible wrong against another. Not even... my love for Fentulk is great enough to... to alter that simple truth." Drawing a shuddering breath, she raised her eyes to meet Kashka's. "I hope he can forgive me. I would not shame him in the eyes of his people. He deserves better than that."

When Kashka heard Geyah speak Joanne's words, she turned away quickly to hide her expression. _My son is no fool_ , she thought fiercely, blinking back tears. _He chose well_.

"Agunta, what say you?" Kashka asked stiffly, her jaw clenched.

The eldest Redwalker nodded. "I am satisfied," she said. "She maintained her honor as befits a Redwalker. It would stain _our_ honor to demand she abandon her own for the sake of our people. That she embraced it and held it close, in defiance of what she believed would be the outcome of her choice, speaks of strength as well as honor. She has my support."

Several others of the elder women assembled nodded in agreement. Though not all Redwalker, they had no quarrel with Joanne's performance in the trial. The only one among them who openly disagreed was Magu, but because her vote had been removed by the Greatmother herself, she knew better than to break her silence and speak.

Geyah now turned to the distraught Joanne and lifted her chin with a gentle hand. "Joanne, do not despair, for you have fulfilled the trial. The Redwalker Clan embraces you as one of their own."

Blinking in confusion, Joanne's eyes darted from one elder to another. "I am... I am... I may stay? With Fentulk, I may stay?" she gasped breathlessly, hardly daring to succumb to joy.

"Yes," Geyah smiled. "You have been found worthy of the Redwalker Clan, the Mag'har, and undoubtedly," she said, glancing at Kashka, "of Fentulk."

"Tell her," Kashka said brusquely, swallowing awkwardly to hide how unexpectedly pleased she was by the outcome of the trial. "Tell her what is next."

Geyah nodded and took Joanne's hand. "Now you will be marked as Redwalker. Come, child, and prepare yourself."

Still bewildered by her unexpected success, Joanne followed in a haze as the procession made its way back to the council hall. A great weight seemed to lift from her shoulders and her stomach. She would see Fentulk again. This time when she went to him, nothing could part her from him.

* * *

Unsure what to think of the ancestor's words, Fentulk gathered his things and rowed the boat back across the lake. He wanted to believe the cryptic words meant that no matter what task was set before Joanne, she would master it. To think otherwise would show his lack of faith in her. Had she not already surprised him several times?

Remembering how she shielded Brogor, an Orc she didn't know who simply needed help, brought an admiring smile to his face. Recalling her fire as she scolded the Draenei made him swell with pride. She was a good woman, a strong woman, and most definitely a worthy one. How could his folk _not_ embrace her?

They couldn't. That must be what his ancestor was telling him. They would test her, see her worth, and name her Redwalker. Might they also apply the tattoos? His body shivered with longing, hoping they would. It would mean she was accepted by all the Mag'har. None would question her presence in Garadar, and none would challenge his desire to have her as a mate.

The boat bumped against the shore, interrupting Fentulk's fond thoughts. He tied off the boat and climbed onto the dock. A growling voice startled him.

"Yer back."

Recognition soared through Fentulk. Grinning widely, he said, "Rugak! I thought you left for Mok'Nathal long ago!" As he advanced to clasp his old friend's hand, Fentulk faltered and slowed. His brow furrowed. "Rugak?"

"'S'it true?" Rugak snarled. "What they're all sayin'? You brought a human back for a mate?"

The breath rushed out of Fentulk's lungs. He'd never seen such hostility on his childhood friend's face. Never seen such hatred.

"Aye," Fentulk said warily. "I did."

Rugak growled, "Traitorous filth." Curling his lip with disgust, he pulled back his fist and punched Fentulk in the face.


	29. Of Loyalty and Kinship

Behind a curtain in the council hall, surrounded by the elder women of the Mag'har, Joanne stood naked with her arms crossed modestly over her breasts. At her left hip, Agunta sat on a stool and penned the outline of the tattoo she would wear representing her acceptance by the Redwalker Clan. Seated on her right, an elder named Ushka drew a matching image.

A few women sat in pairs here and there, chatting away over various busy work – mending clothing and carving various utensils. One of the younger ones whose knuckles were not yet swollen with age was fletching arrows. Geyah only told Joanne the topics of discussion; there were too many conversations going on to translate every word.

They reminisced about their own trials, some taken before the world broke apart. Each one resolved the trial in their own way, and so showed the Mag'har who they were. The women laughed and teased one another like old friends. Magu was not there; only members of the Redwalker Clan shared in this ritual.

And ritual it was, though casually performed. Incense burned, and Agunta's grandaughter quietly tapped a drum in the background of the elders' voices. Both women drawing the talbuks hummed and chanted in low voices as they worked.

A light breeze blew through the council hall, only somewhat blocked by the curtains. Joanne shivered and tried to endure in silence. Geyah had explained this step, and the one to follow. She was to bear the Mark of the Talbuk, as all Redwalker women did. The temporary ink they used to guide the needles in applying the permanent design was cold against her bare skin. She fixed an image of Fentulk in her mind; this was for him as much as for her. She hoped she could bear the pain as bravely as he had when the clefthoof was pricked into his flesh years ago.

Kashka and Geyah stood apart and conferred. "She needs to be told," Kashka said in an undertone. "My son will take her up. He'll ask her."

The Greatmother arched an eyebrow. "You will accept her as his mate?"

Sighing, Kashka replied, "I have to. I can't lose my boy again, Geyah. He'll choose her over me... over his people."

"That is as it should be," she said. "One must follow the path laid out for them. When we choose a mate, we embark on a new path. He will follow wherever it leads... wherever _she_ leads." Placing a hand on Kashka's shoulder, she added, "See this woman with your heart, not your eyes. I don't believe she would lead him away from his people."

The warrior woman paused for a moment, then nodded. "It is much easier now. I didn't think I'd ever see..." Huffing with impatience, she said briskly, "They love each other. It would be wrong to stand between them. And she isn't... _so_ bad."

Geyah nodded again, suppressing a smile. "Tell me what you want her to know, and I will speak your words."

* * *

Kashka and Geyah stood in front of Joanne as the application of needles began. For Joanne, it felt like insect bites on her flanks. The old women had done this uncountable times; they knew their business. They also saw no need to test the endurance of the woman, as the men often did with their process. Women would receive their test of pain when bearing a child; they needed no other. For this, a soothing salve was applied beforehand, and eased the discomfort by dulling sensations of pain in the skin.

"Kashka wishes me to speak with you of delicate matters," Geyah began, and Joanne swallowed. Her mother had informed her of relations between men and women, surprisingly revealed in gentle terms considering her own experience. Joanne was naïve about a lot of things, but the mechanics of coupling were known. Yet she remained still and attentive; Orc ways were likely... different.

"I am told Fentulk will take you to a floating island," the Greatmother continued, and Joanne nodded. "I will tell you what this means. Ever since the Sundering tore those chunks from the land and put them in the sky, and held them there, they have been a source of wonder and mystery to the Mag'har. Their presence is both a reminder of our past, and a symbol of our future. Just as the islands defy nature by staying where they are, _as_ they are, so too do the Mag'har exist and thrive in defiance of all threats within and without that would attempt to destroy us. We hold to our sacred traditions. We remain true to ourselves.

"Our people consider the islands to be places of special significance, where important rites are performed. These rites are made more meaningful by the location in which they are done. Beginnings and continuations are generally chief among the rites of the islands."

"Beginnings?" Joanne asked, her voice slightly pained as the tattooing went on. Agunta was engaged in shading, and her diligent attention to one area threatened to overwhelm the effects of the salve. Joanne's eyelids twitched, and occasionally she sucked a gasp through her clenched teeth.

"The beginnings of relations, the beginnings of life," Geyah explained gently, "and the continuation of the Mag'har people. Fentulk wishes to bring you to one of the islands. There, he plans to ask you to be his mate. If you accept his suit, it is traditional to consummate your union on the island."

Pausing to let this information sink in, Geyah watched the woman's expression. At first she seemed pleased, likely by the intended proposal. Then her face clouded with worry and she chewed her lip. The Greatmother hastened to reassure her.

"You are not _required_ to lie with him at that time," Geyah said. "I say it is _traditional_ , and tell you this because it is known among our people. When a man takes a woman up, it is fairly well understood by all what it means. Kashka did not want you to be unprepared. If you do not yet feel... comfortable taking such a step, none will condemn you for wishing to wait."

"But I do not _want_ to wait!" Joanne cried, then pressed her lips together, her cheeks flaring red. "Forgive me," she murmured meekly. Her eyes shifted between Geyah and Kashka almost in a panic. "I... I have... desire for him. I only... It is just that... I have not..."

Geyah smiled. "You have not known a man's touch, have you?"

Bowing her head with even greater embarrassment, Joanne said, "No, I have not."

"There is no shame in that," Geyah said mildly.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Joanne looked up at Geyah and told her, "Fentulk... has known a woman. His mother was terribly angry with him for it." She looked away again. "I confess, I was as well. Not because he _had_ , but... because of... other reasons."

"What is past, is past," Geyah soothed. "There is only now and what is to come." A slight smile curved her mouth, exposing her worn tusks. "Your 'harsh words' with him, hmm?"

Blushing again, Joanne nodded. "It was foolish of me to worry..."

"No, it was not," Geyah interrupted firmly. "Your heart was troubled by his deed; you had every right to seek satisfaction. You needn't tell me the reasons for your anger. This was between you and Fentulk, and you have resolved the issue, I trust. It is past." Arching her brows and looking carefully at Joanne, she pressed, "Isn't it?"

Joanne's brow furrowed in thought. How to convey how she _now_ felt? "I am not... _angry_ with him for what he did. It was before we met; I had no claim upon him. What... bothers me, I suppose, is that... he... he has shared such a thing with... someone who..." Sighing with frustration, Joanne blurted out, "She knew how to please a man, and I do not."

Pursing her lips to hide her smile, Geyah asked, "Where is he now?"

Startled, Joanne replied, "Here in Garadar."

"And who is he with?"

Joanne blinked, unsure at first why the Greatmother was asking such questions. "With me, I suppose."

"There is more to pleasing a man than sharing his bed," Geyah said wryly. "You need only love him as you do at this moment to walk with him. Once your feet are upon the path, nothing will come between you."

At that moment, the sound of raised voices entering the council hall could be heard, and the elders all stopped their talk to listen. Kashka bristled; one of them was Fentulk.

"What has that boy gotten up to now?" she muttered furiously, and stormed past the curtains.

"What is happening?" Joanne asked nervously. Geyah immediately waved her to calmness.

"Don't worry," she said. "This is far more important than what is going on out there. Stay still, now." Turning to the elders, she continued in Orcish, "Ushka, Agunta – carry on. Leelos, keep playing. If I am needed, I will attend to the matter. Until then, I will remain."

"It sounds to me like you'll be called upon to settle it, Greatmother," Agunta commented. "There is murder in those voices."

"As long as it isn't in their hearts, all will be well," Geyah replied, furrowing her brow uncertainly.

* * *

Kashka stormed across the council hall to where guards restrained her son and an Orc Fentulk used to know as a friend, keeping them separated. Both looked as though blows had already been exchanged; blood seeped from split lips and darkened, swelling flesh surrounded their eyes.

"Alliance whore fucker!" Rugak roared, his muscles bunching as he strained against the men who held him. Fentulk was likewise difficult to control. He hadn't cared for foul names directed at Karie; even less when applied to Joanne.

"Don't call'er that or I'll have yer tongue!" Fentulk shot back.

 _"Whore!_ _Harlot! Slut!_ " Rugak barked, and this time Fentulk launched himself over the guards' arms with a roar of fury and came close to reaching the other Orc.

"That is enough!" Kashka bellowed. Standing between them, she delivered a resounding smack to both their cheeks. "Look at yourselves!" she snarled. "You practically suckled the same teat, you were so close. Rugak, stand down. Fentulk, you as well."

Shooting a glowering look to each in turn, she snapped, "You have been apart for many years, and there was no quarrel at your parting. There is _no reason_ for this!"

Rugak thrust an accusing finger toward Fentulk. "He lies with Alliance filth!" Kashka struck his hand down.

"The woman is not with the Alliance," she growled. "She has completed the trial and is Mag'har. The elders of the Redwalker Clan even now mark her as one of us."

"She passed?" Fentulk gasped, his attention completely removed from Rugak. He searched his mother's eyes for the truth of her words.

"Her... completion of the task was found satisfactory," Kashka replied evasively. Turning to glare at Rugak, she growled, "You will not challenge her claim or you will answer to _me_."

"How can yuh _stand_ them?" Rugak hissed at Fentulk, disgust plain on his face. "After what they _did_!"

Fentulk narrowed his eyes as he looked at his old friend. There was anger there, but anguish as well. "Rugak," he said in a subdued tone, "what did they do?"

Shaking from head to toe from grief-stricken rage, Rugak couldn't speak for several moments. Gradually, his trembling slowed and he gasped for breath. It took several more minutes for him to calm enough to speak. "Muh-... my Grehka," he whispered in a faltering voice. Swallowing hard, he added, "And little Lariny."

"Who...," Fentulk asked cautiously, schooling his voice to remain steady as though he spoke to an easily roused animal, "who is Grehka?"

"My mate," Rugak replied. "Was."

The Orc's eyes held such pain, Fentulk nearly wept for him without knowing more than this much. He guessed that the hate was what kept the grief at bay. Perhaps it was easier to manage than the loss.

"I went to the Mok'nathal," Rugak said in a quiet voice. His eyes seemed to see far away. "Years ago. To negotiate trade, offer any help they might need. They're so far from us, and their village is so small..." A slight smile softened his expression. "I found Grehka there. We became one, and were joined. We had... had a daughter. Lariny."

Fentulk bowed his head. _Please_ , he begged the ancestors, even knowing it was in vain, _don't let him say it._

"Grehka took Lariny to the forest," Rugak said almost dreamily as he remembered. "Teaching her about herbs and things. We had no reason to think... no reason. They didn't... didn't come home. Hours and hours... then days. Couldn't find them... not for days." Turning pleading eyes on Fentulk – as though he stood in judgment over Rugak, as though Fentulk might declare he hadn't done enough – Rugak said, "We looked _everywhere_. The hunters and their beasts. We looked and looked and looked..."

Tears welled in Rugak's eyes and his face contorted. "We found them. On... on stakes in the ground. Just... just their... their heads. Never found... the rest."

"I got no words," Fentulk breathed, stricken. "I... I'm sorry."

"It was _humans_ ," Rugak hissed, his expression hardening. "The wolves picked up the scent and we tracked them down. Alliance bastards. One of them wore her trophy necklace. It had things she'd taken from kills. Teeth and claws and such. He wore it like... like it was a trophy _he'd_ taken from _her_. We slaughtered the lot of'em." Hate boiled up in his gut once more, and he glared at Fentulk. "And _you_... You come home _beddin'_ one'uh them. As if it means nothing. As if Grehka don't matter. _Lariny_ don't matter." He spat at Fentulk's feet. "Demons take you, filth."

"Rugak," Fentulk said hoarsely, "your mate's death... your _child's_ death... mean a great deal. But... it was not _Joanne_ who slew them."

"She is _human_ ," Rugak snarled.

"Yeah, she is," Fentulk nodded. "I ain't denyin' it."

"How can you betray the Mag'har like this?" Rugak hissed. "How can you... how can you _fuck_ one'uh them after what they did to my mate? My _child_?"

Fentulk shook his head. "I ain't betrayed nobody, least of all you. I'm sorry for what happened, but it wasn't Joanne. _She_ didn't do nothin' to you _or_ your family." He reached out and gripped his friend's shoulder. "She's human and we are Orcs. We are Mag'har. But... did _we_ destroy Theramore, or was it only one of us? Did all of our hands together drop a bomb that murdered thousands of innocent _humans_ , or was it only one of our people who did it? Should we _all_ be punished for the deeds of one Orc? I never thought you was the kind to think that way, Rugak."

Rugak bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. "She was my light," he sobbed.

"Joanne is mine," Fentulk replied. "It don't matter to me what her race is. I only see Joanne. That's all that matters."

"My child," Rugak whispered.

Fentulk drew him close and embraced his friend. "I know." He felt the tension give a little in Rugak, then the Orc wept. It was likely the first time he had done so since the tragedy occurred. Looking to his mother, Fentulk asked, "How long's he been back?"

Kashka took a deep breath and forced herself to think. She hadn't known of this bomb he mentioned. It wasn't easy to forget it now, even for a moment. "A month, I think. He never spoke of it. He just... joined a hunting group and began doing his part for the village, like he used to. Never said a word to anyone." Shrugging helplessly, she went on, "His parents died of the pox a few years back, so... I suppose... he hasn't had anyone... Oh, Rugak," she breathed, and put her hand on his back. "You come along to the house, boy. You come and see us like you used to."

"I'm... sorry," Rugak grunted, withdrawing and rubbing his face. He hung his head, ashamed of his outburst.

"Yuh got nothin' to be sorry about," Fentulk said. "Yuh held it in too long, 's'all. Maybe... you come over and we'll do some fishin' with da. I, uh... I got some stories to tell. And I wanna hear yours."

"Hmph," Kashka snorted. "You'd best keep _one_ of your 'stories' to yourself."

Glaring at his mother, Fentulk growled, "Yuh gonna let it go, or bring it up all the time?"

"I'll let you know," she snapped, then turned on her heel and marched back to the curtained area.

Fentulk glanced at Rugak and rolled his eyes dramatically now that his mother couldn't see him do it. A slight chuckle escaped his old friend.

"You, uh... you ain't changed all that much," he said quietly. Fentulk nodded.

"Yer still like a brother to me, Rugak," he said firmly. "That sure ain't gonna change no matter how much yuh hate me."

Rugak bowed his head. "I don't hate yuh, Fen. I just felt... sorta..." Sighing, he shook his head. "Just couldn't believe it of yuh, I guess. When we was lads, we used to talk 'bout fightin' the Alliance together. Cause they was always sendin' their folks out after our patrols and hunters. They made themselves our _enemy_ when they came here. I guess I just thought... you was still that way."

"Not no more," Fentulk replied. "And it ain't cause of her. I worked a neutral ship in Azeroth. Got to see both sides, day in, day out." He shrugged. "There ain't no difference, really. All the same, no matter what they called themselves. Want the same things, afraid'uh the same shit."

"You think... you think I did wrong, then. Killin' those humans," Rugak growled challengingly. Fentulk shook his head.

"Anything happen to Joanne, I don't know what it would take for me to _stop_ killin'," Fentulk said with grim certainty. "And I ain't one to go down that road without cause. You know that. Don't look for me to say you done wrong. Don't know as I'd do nothin' different. Hope I never find out."

* * *

"Is everything resolved?" Geyah asked as Kashka returned.

"Yes," the warrior replied huffily. "Men and their quiet ways. Never tell you what goes on in their heads. Keep it close and secret until it explodes out of them. Idiots." She shook her head. "They should deal with it in the open. Hiding their grief only makes it worse."

Geyah nodded, pressing her lips firmly together to appear agreeable. She'd always known Kashka to be the sort who behaved in exactly the same way as the men she accused. Her reason was usually that she had no reason to grieve. She called the twelve-year-long stint of tears and worry while Fentulk was on another world simply 'fretting'.

"Did you hear of this... bomb?" Kashka asked suddenly, and Geyah startled.

"You mean on Azeroth?" the Greatmother asked. At Kashka's nod, she sighed. "Yes. A few days past. The shaman who came soon after it fell told me of it. They were... well, furious. That a son of the Mag'har... but I suppose... Perhaps he is more like his father than even _he_ thought."

"Hmph," Kashka grunted. "Not many on that world want to remember what a power-mad beast Grom Hellscream was. They only see the one moment when he _wasn't_."

"Let them have their memories of that moment, for it meant their redemption," Geyah admonished gently. "If Grom could have his moment, perhaps the son of Grom shall one day have _his_."

Shifting her attention, Geyah urged Kashka to see how the tattooing was going. Most of each image on the woman's flanks were complete. The design was mostly an outline, with some parts, particularly the throat and tail, shaded more densely. On a Mag'har woman's brown skin, the earthtones of the finished tattoo were not easily seen; on Joanne's cream-white skin, they were vibrant.

Though her skin was reddened by the pricking of the needles and tiny beads of blood welled up here and there, the effect was stunning.

"Was... was Fentulk... is everything all right?" Joanne asked when Kashka stood back to admire the women's handiwork. Geyah nodded.

"All is well," she replied. "Don't trouble yourself." The Greatmother fixed a mask of calm on her face, hoping the young woman wouldn't see her own worry over the harsh words roared about the council hall. It was truly a blessing that Joanne didn't understand their tongue just yet. Geyah rather hoped she would not recall those vile names and ask for their meanings later.

"Is it almost finished?" she asked timidly. A shiver ran through her. Though the needles were quite thin and not terribly painful, she'd been pricked by them for over an hour, she was naked in an open building with a constant breeze blowing through, and her body was aching from having to stand still the whole time. Aware of how she must sound, she quickly apologized. "Forgive me. I must seem like an impatient child."

"Not at all. It is quite an ordeal," Geyah laughed. "But yes, it is nearly done." She repeated her assessment in Orcish for the elders.

"Quite close," Agunta murmured. Ushka grunted agreement.

"The question, as always, is how closely will they match?" Geyah asked with a smile.

"Mine shall be the more graceful," Ushka muttered. "As always."

"And mine shall show strength," Agunta added. "As always."

"On this side will be the blessing of many children," Ushka noted.

"Their bravery will be found here," Agunta replied.

"Your work is perfect," Geyah praised. "As always."

Agunta straightened then, and rolled her shoulders and neck. Laying down her needle, she shook out her gnarled hands. "This is a task for younger eyes," she commented, but her expression was pleased. Fetching a cloth, she wetted it and dabbed at the fresh tattoo, soothing the hurts and cleaning away the guide lines and blood. Ushka soon finished her work and did the same.

"I must say, I almost prefer a paleskin for this work," Ushka said, tilting her head this way and that, admiring the image she'd wrought. "Every line is clearly seen."

"In which case, you must hope you haven't made a mistake," Agunta chuckled, wiping her hands on another cloth.

"They are finished now," Geyah told Joanne. With a sigh, the woman relaxed. She had to arch and stretch to see the images on her flanks.

"They are beautiful," she breathed, awestruck. "I almost wish everyone could see them! They are too lovely to hide."

Geyah laughed. "But you _must_. These are for you and your mate alone. When the time is right, you will see the marks of your mate with your own eyes, and see how they differ..."

"Yes," Joanne said absently, still looking over her own and comparing one side with the other. "I have seen Fentulk's. They are quite different from this..."

Furrowing her brow, Geyah said, "You have seen his tattoos?"

Joanne glanced up, a blush coloring her cheeks. Seeing the Greatmother's surprise, she hastened to say, "He was kept in the tower barely covered. It was not... He did not do anything _immodest_." Recalling what she saw in the Dwarf's tent, she ducked her head and muttered, "Not on purpose, anyway."

"Yes, well... as I'm sure has been conveyed to you, one way or another," Geyah explained, "Fentulk's family is rather... conservative in its views. Not all Mag'har hold the same beliefs. Neither do all Redwalker, for that matter. For you to have seen Fentulk's tattoos when there was no understanding between you... Well, take my advice: do not tell Kashka of it." The Greatmother's eyes twinkled with mirth. "She would be quite furious with him."

"I will keep it to myself, then," Joanne replied with a shy smile.

As Kashka helped Joanne into a loose shift, she spoke briefly with the Greatmother. Geyah nodded and addressed Joanne.

"Kashka wants you to know that while you recover from receiving these tattoos, she will help you make a traditional dress to wear when Fentulk takes you to the island," Geyah told her. "And she will begin teaching you our tongue."

"Tell her... tell her I am most grateful for everything she has done," Joanne replied sincerely. "And please thank Agunta and... Ushka. They have done beautiful work I shall wear with pride."

Geyah nodded and conveyed Joanne's words. As she did so, Joanne hugged herself and smiled. _Once I know their words, I will know I am home_ , she thought happily.


	30. Old Wounds

Walking stiffly in Kashka's wake, Joanne couldn't help worrying a bit about what the altercation in the council hall had been about. One of the angry voices had been Fentulk's, she was sure. No one denied it was him, either. Yet when the curtain was taken down, the hall was empty.

Word had evidently spread of her acceptance; women up and down the path halted their work or conversations to give her a nod. Joanne felt a surge of joy each time; they knew her as one of their own now, not as the strange woman from another world.

At the family's home, Kashka ushered her inside and Joanne started. Fentulk sat at the table grimacing as his father daubed a cloth on the open cuts about his face.

"Fentulk!" she cried, and he turned. His lower lip had been split by a blow and his cheek was sporting a dark bruise. One eye was swollen shut. "What in the world...?"

Standing with difficulty, Fentulk sought to placate her. "It ain't nothin'. Just... uh... met an old friend."

Sighing with exasperation, she shook her head. "Oh, Fentulk, do you only have friends who seek to hurt you?"

"Well... no," he replied uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kora weren't... _much_ of a friend, as that goes. Rugak's more like... a brother. He sorta had a rough... Look, we got it sorted out."

"If you think it is _entirely_ 'sorted,'" Kashka growled when he dutifully repeated his words in Orcish, "you're a fool. He'll have some other bit of madness to unleash, you mark my words. You and your 'friend,' always keeping everything to yourselves. It's little wonder he blew up."

Fentulk struggled not to sigh and just nodded. "I'll keep an eye on'im, ma."

"And _you!_ " she barked, rounding on a startled Tagdish. "I find out _after_ everyone else that the Horde's Warchief – one of _our_ men – dropped a _bomb_ somewhere in Azeroth? When would you have seen fit to share that news with me?"

"Come on," Fentulk whispered to Joanne, taking her elbow. "Leave'em at it. I'll show you 'round some."

Joanne gave Tagdish a sympathetic look as he fumbled for an answer, then followed Fentulk out the back doorway. They took the path down to his father's favorite fishing spot and kept on walking hand-in-hand.

After his mother's raised voice was no longer distinguishable, Joanne asked, "Why would this... Rugak strike you? Why was he so angry?"

Sighing, Fentulk told her the fate of his friend's mate and child. "It wasn't long ago; just a month or so. Still fresh and still hurtin'."

"And... he heard about me," she said quietly. "I am sorry."

"You got nothin' to be sorry about," he assured her. "I told'im you shouldn't be punished for what... stupid folk in your faction done. It wasn't _you_."

"Did he... how did he take that?"

"Well, it'll take'im a bit'uh time to... you know... grieve, I suppose," Fentulk shrugged. "Ma told'im to come by. He's got nobody here no more; his folks died a few years back. Last'uh their clan." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Forgot that. _He's_ the last of'em now."

Joanne didn't press him for more. It was clear by the look on Fentulk's face that the loss of all members of a clan was not one to take lightly. She thought of the ritual she'd taken part in to become a member of the Redwalker Clan. Though uncomfortable, she felt a part of the clan, and therefore closer to Fentulk. If all the members passed on, who would keep these rituals? Would they be forgotten? And little by little, as one clan after another died out, would the spirit binding the Orcs together here be lost, never to be regained?

What, then, would those Orcs on Azeroth be left with?

* * *

"What the fuck is this?" Fentulk growled the next morning, holding up the leggings his father just handed to him. They were simply that: _leggings_. They covered the thighs and calves and hung from a belt about the waist. The leather was thin and soft, likely from a talbuk.

"Yuh think yer goin' up to the island wearin' just any old shit?" Tagdish snorted.

"I wear this and I'll scare the hell outta her," Fentulk retorted. "I ain't goin' around with my dick hangin' out, da."

"Yuh wear this over yer dick, boy," his father said, handing him an elaborately-embroidered pair of leather panels. They were similar in purpose to the flaps he'd worn in the tower, but hung down to the knees.

"These yours?" Fentulk asked skeptically.

"That they are," Tagdish nodded. "Yuh wear'em when yuh go askin' a woman to be yer mate. If Joanne's ma was alive, she'd be givin' her somethin' to wear. But she ain't, so she's gotta make'er own." Straightening with pride, Tagdish said, "Them things've been up a fair few times. I wore'em to ask yer ma, my da wore'em to ask _my_ ma, _his_ da..."

"Yeah, I get it," Fentulk interrupted, trying not to laugh. "This shit's covered a lot of Redwalker dick."

"Cheeky bastard," his father growled without heat. "This get-up leaves yer business free when yer ready to use it. Assumin' your woman accepts you, _and_ wants to lie with yuh right then."

"Ma told'er she don't have to," Fentulk sighed. "Kinda hope she does anyway."

"Well, these ain't gonna fit yuh without help. That's what we're gonna do while yer ma helps'er make'er dress," Tagdish said. "First thing yuh wanna do is get us some talbuk skins so's we can make them leggin's a bit bigger 'round." Eying his son critically, he shook his head. "Guess swabbin' decks puts some muscle on yuh, don't it?"

"Reckon so," Fentulk chuckled. "Uh, we don't got that kinda time, do we? To tan some hide?"

"Pfft," Tagdish replied dismissively. "Get it from the leatherworker. You ain't wantin' to wait, and if I ain't gone blind, neither does she."

Swallowing uncomfortably, Fentulk bowed his head. "I, uh... I got no money, da. Not a copper. Alliance took it all when they grabbed me."

Tagdish put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't you worry 'bout nothin'. Yer home now, son. Yer family'll do for yuh til you can do for yerself." Holding up a hand when Fentulk started to protest, he said, "Not another word, now. Let's go get us some leather, eh?"

The additional lengths of talbuk leather were easily acquired, leaving Fentulk and his father able to get right to work. While Kashka had Joanne spirited away to a gathering of Redwalker women, young and old, taking measurements and cutting her own leather attire, Fentulk struggled with the needle and thread on his.

"Yuh know what's funny," he muttered, and his father grunted. "Wore somethin' like them flaps in the tower. Weren't so nice as yours." He chuckled under his breath as he pulled the thread through the leather in short, jerking motions. "Had to go about like that for awhile after we got out."

Frowning at his son, Tagdish asked, "Yuh wore somethin' like this?" He nodded to the decorated panels lying on the table.

Fentulk shrugged. "Somethin' like it. Plain, though. And dirty." Diving the needle in again, he added, "Weren't made for Orcs. Didn't cover me all the way."

"So... she saw yuh, eh?" Tagdish asked quietly.

"Yeah," Fentulk nodded, his face coloring a little. His bruised cheek darkened further. "We, uh, stayed in a camp first night. I woke next mornin' with, uh... well... standin' up, if yuh know what I mean. She was awake and, uh..." Glancing up at his father's shocked face, he sighed. "She saw me, da. Tattoos and all."

"Uh... huh," Tagdish replied uncomfortably. There really wasn't anything he could say, no chastisement he could think of for such a breach of ettiquette. It seemed to be at least acceptably accidental. Then his brow furrowed. Tagdish had never really thought about what intimate matters between Orcs and non-Orcs might entail. Joanne seemed _somewhat_ similar in size to an Orc woman, but the men weren't built quite the same.

"I, uh... wonder how different we are from humans," Tagdish ventured.

Fentulk grunted. "We're a bit bigger, da."

"You seen one of'em, then?" his father asked. "A human?"

"Yeah," Fentulk nodded. "First Mate Masker was human. Liked to piss over the rail of the ship."

Tagdish burst out laughing at the unexpected revelation, and Fentulk smiled.

"Not in front of the passengers, mind you," his son reassured him. "Just his preference, I suppose."

"Well," Tagdish advised awkwardly, "you, uh, make it as easy on'er as you can manage."

"I ain't stupid, da," Fentulk replied. "I know what I gotta do."

"This, uh, woman you was with," Tagdish probed. He'd always left this sort of thing to his mate to handle, but it was his responsibility to help his son through the asking. Maybe Fentulk had some experience with women, but he didn't have it with Joanne. Tagdish at least figured he could educate the boy on dealing with a woman's first time. "She'd been with someone else before you, right?"

Fentulk nodded.

"So you don't really know what it's like to be with... an untouched woman, do yuh?"

Sighing, his son shook his head. "No, I don't."

"Well," Tagdish said as delicately as he could, "I was your ma's first, and she was mine. You, uh, you gotta be gentle."

"I will be, da," Fentulk said.

"Yuh gotta take it slow."

"I know."

"You, uh... you make sure she's ready for yuh," Tagdish pointed out. "You, uh, get her kinda... you know..."

"I _know_ , da," Fentulk chuckled.

"Given she's... yuh know... a _bit_ smaller'n our ladies," Tagdish continued, a blush creeping across his face, "maybe it wouldn't be... amiss, uh, if you, uh... Well, there ain't no delicate way'uh puttin' it. Um, maybe if you, uh... pleased her with yer mouth first or somethin'..."

"I plan on it, da," Fentulk said firmly.

Tagdish blinked. "You... you know 'bout that?"

"Yeah," his son sighed. "I do."

"That, uh... that woman was pretty thorough with yuh, was she?" Tagdish said wryly.

Fentulk drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We didn't get 'round to that, da."

"Where'd yuh learn it, then?" Tagdish asked, narrowing his eyes.

Feeling quite a bit like a rabbit caught in a snare, Fentulk sighed. "She wasn't my first."

"Really," his father growled. "Whatchou get up to on that world, eh?"

Avoiding Tagdish's eyes more from annoyance than shame, Fentulk replied, "Da, I was young when I left. Maybe I... maybe I felt a little... smothered... by all the 'don't do that's and 'that ain't right's, and maybe I made my own decisions when I was on my own."

"I see," Tagdish said stiffly. "How long did _that_ one last?"

"A few months," Fentulk sighed. "I didn't feel for her the way I feel for Joanne. I was... fond of her, but..." He shrugged, not really wanting to dredge it back up now.

"She that... friend'uh yers?" Tagdish asked. "The one that helped yuh get home?"

Fentulk chuckled. "No, not _her_. Didn't even meet'er til Ghakora left for Silvermoon."

"Was it... was she an Orc?"

"Yeah, da," his son nodded. "She was an Orc. Just... exactly the kind ma told me not to go after."

"Yuh didn't... leave her with nothin' yuh shouldn't, did yuh?" Tagdish pressed, arching his brow.

"No, I didn't," Fentulk growled with exasperation. "I wasn't the only one who was havin'er, so she took care'uh that business. She was a warrior. Went away to war, and I never saw'er again. Could be dead now; I got no idea. I got over it, and moved on."

"Did you know she was... seein' them others...?" Tagdish asked awkwardly.

Fentulk fixed him with a steady glare. "No. And I'd appreciate it if yuh dropped the fuckin' subject."

"Yuh wanna let it lie, that's yer business," Tagdish shrugged. "But are yuh sure it's done? Ain't gonna be somethin' that bites yer ass later?"

"Da," Fentulk snarled and leaned forward, "I didn't _love'_ er, all right? I just didn't like gettin' _lied_ to. That's all." Leaning back, he balled up a fist and held tight for a moment, staring at the clothes on the table.

"Not gonna tell yer ma 'bout that, I reckon?" Tagdish said.

Fentulk shot him an incredulous look. "Fuck no, da. She kicked my ass for one I spent a week with. Think I'm gonna tell'er about the other one?"

"Yuh know'er name?" his father asked steadily.

"Yeah I do, but it don't matter," Fentulk snapped. "Ain't nobody knows'er here. And I ain't gonna tell yuh," he said, overriding his father's intention to ask. "If she _is_ alive, I don't wanna... embarrass'er by bringin' up old news. It don't matter, all right?"

"All right," Tagdish conceded. "So you kinda know whatcher doin' then?"

"I kinda know, yeah," Fentulk replied.

"Don't get cocky," his father warned. " _She_ don't know nothin'."

"I _know_ , da," Fentulk growled. "I know she ain't been with nobody, and she knows I have."

"She know 'bout the other one?" Tagdish asked mildly.

"No," Fentulk snapped. "I ain't tellin'er, and neither are you. It ain't important."

"There ain't been nobody else?"

"No, just them two," Fentulk growled.

Tagdish narrowed his eyes. "Yuh ain't lyin' to me now, are yuh?"

"No, da, I ain't lyin'," Fentulk said. Huffing angrily, he went on, "Yuh know, maybe it was cause I remembered what it was like, that I went to that woman on the ship. Sex feels good, da. I missed it, all right? Happy now?"

"Son, don't get shitty with me," Tagdish growled.

"Sorry da, I'm just tired'uh havin' to explain what nobody on Azeroth gives a fuck about, all right?" Fentulk barked. "Ain't hardly nobody round _here_ does, neither. Just cause you and ma got these... ideas, don't mean everybody shares'em. I'm grown now; I can make my own decisions and do my own things. I ain't gonna ignore or forget everything I been taught, but sometimes... I gotta forgive myself. I did what I did, and ain't nobody got hurt by it."

Looking away for a moment, he faltered. "If I thought what I done woulduh hurt Joanne, I never woulduh done it. She's that important to me." Glaring at his father, Fentulk growled, "What's done is done. I can't undo none of it. And maybe she'll... benefit from my experience. Cause maybe I learned how to please a woman somewhere along the line. Maybe I needed them women to teach me. Maybe I'll come to her and I'll know somethin'. She don't know how good it can be. Her ma only knew how ugly it could be. If I didn't know what I was doin', then it wouldn't be much different from what her ma put up with."

Tagdish's brow furrowed. "What'd her ma put up with?"

Not feeling particularly kind or forgiving at the moment, Fentulk said bluntly, "Her ma was raped a hell of a lot, da. Didn't have nowhere to go. All the men in that tower had at her, all the time. Joanne don't even know who'er da is; could be anybody."

"She... came from _that_?" Tagdish breathed in stunned disbelief.

"Yeah," Fentulk nodded curtly. "Her ma died awhile ago. Protected'er best she could. Wasn't gonna be long before the same thing happened to her. They _used_ her against me. They _pretended_ they was doin' it, in the same cell with me. Made me think they was _rapin'_ er, to try and get me to confess to shit I didn't do. You don't think I didn't fuckin' sing like a bird... I didn't care what the fuck I told'em... Anything to get'em to stop doin' what they was doin' to'er, makin' her suffer..."

It was coming back to him, the fear and anguish he felt and could do nothing about. His voice shook, and he trembled all over. "And she was just gonna send me on my way and not leave, cause she had a contract. She _couldn't_ leave. Human law would've sent her ass right back there. So I stole'er away with me. Didn't want them... doin' it for real."

"I didn't know... how bad it was," Tagdish said quietly. "Sorry, son."

"Da," Fentulk breathed, "I still hurt all over. I been healed a couple times, but it ain't been enough." Tears welled in his eyes and he drew a hand over the top of his head. The stubble of new growth rasped in the stillness of the kitchen. His voice hitched. "I lost all my hair, da; _all of it_. They... they _burned_ it off. They broke my bones." He choked and flinched. "Broke'em and healed'em, broke'em and healed'em... Got no idea how many times."

Horrified, Tagdish hissed, " _Why_? Did they even tell yuh _why_?"

"They thought I was gonna kill their king," Fentulk snarled. Then he laughed, and it came out tinged with madness for the absurdity of the idea. "Thought I was a _spy_ , cause I'm Mag'har like the Warchief. That's the only reason they told me." Once again, his emotions got the better of him and he could barely speak. "Wouldn't listen to me, da. Told'em over and over I didn't know _nothin'_. They didn't listen. Thought they just needed to... do somethin' _more_. Make it hurt more... maybe I'd tell'em what they wanted to hear."

Drawing a shaky breath, he continued, "Cause Joanne was... kind to me, they decided they'd make me think they was hurtin' her. Thought maybe _that_ would break me." Fentulk began to weep, and covered his eyes with his hand. "It fuckin' worked. It worked. They broke me, da. I woulda told'em _anything_." Finally succumbing, Fentulk lowered his head onto his arms on the table and sobbed.

Tagdish sat in shocked silence for several moments, staring at his shattered son. It took some effort to dredge up his own voice. "I... I understand, son," he said hoarsely. "Yer, uh, yer home now. Yer safe. Both of yuh."

Fentulk raised his head and looked at his father through tear-blurred eyes. "I don't know that, da. We escaped, but they mighta followed us. I... I don't _know_ if they did or not. I ain't seen nobody, but... they might... just be hidin'." He shook his head. "Can't let'em take me again. Unless... if they do, they just take _me_ and leave Joanne behind." Clutching his father's arm, he pleaded, "If they come for me, da... you make sure she's safe, all right? Promise me?"

Brow furrowed, Tagdish patted his son's hand. "Ain't nobody gonna take yuh. Nobody in Garadar would allow it."

Closing his eyes, Fentulk nodded.

"Son," Tagdish said, "why don't you just... go on up and have a rest, eh? I got your measure now; I can finish this work. Yuh look... done in."

"Sorry, da," Fentulk said in a subdued tone. "Said some shit..."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Tagdish interrupted. "Yuh had a hard time. Come on, now." Standing, he helped his son rise and accompanied him to the sleeping room. "Now, yuh ain't gonna worry 'bout nothin' for the rest'uh the day, yuh hear?"

"Yeah, da," Fentulk muttered as he climbed the ladder. Tagdish followed him up.

"I'll just sit with yuh a bit," he offered. "Make sure yuh go to sleep like yuh oughta."

A slight smile curved Fentulk's mouth as he removed his shirt. "Think I can't manage it on my own, da?"

"You've always been a stubborn bas-," Tagdish chuckled, then froze. His jaw worked soundlessly for several seconds. Fentulk looked over his shoulder curiously.

"Somethin' wrong, da?"

Swallowing, Tagdish found his voice after a brief search. "Yuh didn't say nothin' 'bout whippin', son."

Fentulk sighed as he lay down on the bedding. "Honestly, da, I got it so much I forgot about it."

Tagdish slowly lowered himself to sit next to his son's bed and stared at the wall, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach about what was done to his boy. When he was sure Fentulk had fallen asleep, he rested a hand on his son's shoulder and wept silently.


	31. The Dance of the Talbuk and the Clefthoof

Though the Redwalker women were patient with her, Joanne struggled. The Orcish tongue was not easily mastered. The words were not like those she knew, and few among the Mag'har possessed the skill to write them down. The anticipation of what would come once the dress was completed distracted her thoughts, and made memorization difficult.

The next few days became routine. In the morning, she accompanied Kashka to the council hall. Over the course of the day and through the mid-day meal, young women of the Mag'har – not all of them Redwalker – came and went, offering advice and assistance. When all was said and done, Joanne would be able to boast that nearly every woman's hand in Garadar took part in the making of her dress.

Joanne thought her face must be on fire; much of the young women's well-meaning advice, embarrassingly translated by the ever mild and unflustered Greatmother, was in regards to coupling. She had no idea there were so many ways to do it! While her mother's words on the subject were strained as she struggled not to terrify her daughter, Joanne was often unable to separate the gentle words from the haunted look in the woman's eyes. Every word from her mouth seemed to be a lie she knew she told but felt obligated to tell anyway. Yet in hearing these women giggling over first time clumsiness and boasting of the prowess of their lovers, Joanne's uncomfortable memories seemed to fade into insignificance. She grew impatient for the day of the Asking to come more swiftly.

By evening each day, she knew a few more words, and was a little less nervous about lying with Fentulk. If not for the one spot of discomfort that remained, she might have been eager to accompany him immediately.

The place of the Asking, the islands in the sky, were _outside_. There were no discreet walls or doors that could be closed and so afford them a measure of privacy. If others performed similar rites on any of the nearby islands, all that she and Fentulk did would be _seen_. Joanne just could not put that worry out of her mind.

After the family meal, Joanne joined Fentulk for a long walk before retiring. When she dressed for bed, she applied the salve to her tattoos that eased the itching as she healed. Each night, she slept comfortably and with pleasant dreams.

On the fourth day after the Trial, Kashka led Joanne back to the family home for the mid-day meal. The dress was finished; Joanne had never seen anything like it, much less worn something so... revealing. Even to one as inexperienced in these matters as Joanne, it was obvious the dress was made for easy removal. The two panels were made of soft talbuk doeskin and laced tightly on one side from the left shoulder to the bottom of the hem that brushed her ankles. On the other side, however, there were only loose ties at the right shoulder, the ribs, the hip, and the knee. A good deal of flesh was exposed between those ties, as well as across the bosom. The bodice was cut low in the front; far lower than anything Joanne had ever seen.

The dress was not made to be worn with underclothes. The thought of being so vulnerable in Fentulk's arms made her shiver.

While the design of the dress was simple, the decoration was not. Foremost in the patterned beadwork and embroidery was the crest of the Redwalker clan. Surrounding the crest were symbols of fertility, she was told, as well as marks specific to the other clans that made up the Mag'har in Nagrand, and represented the many women who helped with its making. Joanne watched with pride as Fentulk and Tagdish admired the finished work.

"It's... it's _beautiful_ ," Fentulk whispered in awe, slowly running his fingers over the beading. A lump formed in his throat; joking with his da over the oft-used leggings aside, Fentulk could almost feel the eyes of his ancestors on him, making certain the old ways were kept alive. He would one day pass those leggings on to their son, and Joanne would give this lovely dress to their daughter. The Redwalker clan would carry on.

The thought of Rugak, the lone survivor of the once-proud Whiteclaw Clan, returned, and Fentulk bowed his head. So much was lost by that one cruel and heartless act. He could only hope that Rugak would one day have the strength to find another mate and keep the clan alive.

As if ushered in by Fentulk's troubled thoughts, Rugak appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, clearing his throat to call their attention. Joanne had not seen him before and so did not know who he was at first.

"You came," Kashka said with relief, and strode across the hut to greet the Orc. Clasping his hand, she led Rugak into the house. "We were just preparing the meal. You are welcome to join us. Please, sit." Rugak awkwardly obeyed, keeping his gaze averted from both Joanne and Fentulk.

Rugak found himself seated at the table, staring down at the dress Joanne would wear soon. He slowly reached out and touched it, his fingertips barely making contact. Trembling, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

"I'll just, uh... get that outta the way," Fentulk said quietly. He carefully lifted the dress from the table and left the room, glancing worriedly at his friend as he went.

Unsure what to do, or who this man was, Joanne looked from one Orc to another. Kashka could barely look at him, and Tagdish didn't even try. No one was moving to offer him anything.

Joanne had learned her way around the house over the last few days, and so felt relatively comfortable fetching the man a drink at least. She took a clean cup, filled it from one of Tagdish's flagons, and brought it to the table.

" _Aka'Magosh_ ," she said timidly as she placed the cup before the Orc.

His head jerked around and he glared hotly at her as though she had insulted him. Joanne retreated a few steps, shaking from head to toe. She didn't know the Orcish word for apology yet, and could only stammer in her own tongue, "I am sorry. Forgive me. I did not mean to insult you."

Kashka came swiftly to her side and put an arm around her shoulders. Joanne gratefully allowed the woman to steer her away from the Orc. But she could feel his eyes on her back as she was led into the sleeping chamber.

It was frustrating to be unable to explain or apologize. Had she mispronounced the words? Was it not her place to approach him at all? There was so much she didn't know! Joanne nearly wept, feeling that she had gravely offended the Orc but could say nothing to sooth his hurt feelings.

"What's goin' on?" Fentulk growled, meeting them coming in as he was on his way back to the kitchen.

"He didn't like what she said," Kashka replied, exasperated. "She only repeated what we've been teaching her. She spoke a blessing on him and his family."

Fentulk sighed and nodded. "I'll talk to him." Glancing at Joanne's confused face, he told her, "Yuh didn't do nothin' wrong. That's Rugak. He... he's gonna take some... some work."

"Oh," Joanne replied, the light dawning. "That is your friend. Fentulk, please tell him I meant no harm. I just... I thought he might be thirsty, and I thought I should say _something_..." Her lower lip trembled.

"Yuh did all right," he reassured her. "Stay here for a bit. I'll talk to'im. Maybe... you can meet him proper in a little while." Joanne nodded.

When Fentulk returned to the kitchen, Rugak was still sitting at the table, but had turned on the stool to face him.

"That's her, then, eh?" the Orc growled.

"Yeah," Fentulk nodded. "Her name's Joanne. I won't be so nice as before if you go shoutin' ugly names at'er again."

Rugak let out a shuddering breath, then chuckled. Rubbing his chin, he muttered, "If that was 'nice' I'd hate to see yuh pissed."

"Get on the wrong side'uh me where Joanne's concerned," Fentulk warned, though his tone had softened somewhat, "and you'll see it."

Nodding, Rugak rose. "Didn't come to stay long," he said, glancing at Kashka and nodding to her. "Just wanted to... well, to have a look at'er. See if..." He stopped; the human was standing in the doorway to the sleeping room. She looked almost fragile to him, and clearly intimidated. Yet her eyes held none of the hate he'd last seen in a human's eyes, and none of the taunting or gloating over his grief. He didn't see pity, either. He saw sympathy and remorse. Apology. Understanding. These things were plentiful in the woman's eyes. "Just seein' if... she's the same as them."

Fentulk's eyes narrowed. "Whattayuh think?" he asked evenly.

After a moment, Rugak looked away from her. "Suppose I don't see the same thing at all." Bowing his head for a moment, he sighed. "Never took'er up. Wanted to, but... we was too far away." He clenched his jaw to keep his grief in check. "You... you go on up, Fen. Don't lose yer chance." Turning away, Rugak walked out of the hut.

* * *

Now that the dress was done, Joanne was able to spend the afternoon with Fentulk once more. Seated in the shade of a tree perhaps a dozen yards from where Tagdish fished, Joanne leaned against Fentulk's chest, his arm around her waist, and gazed up at the dozen or so little islands in the sky. He'd pointed out the one he preferred, and she found she rather liked it as well. She tried not to focus on how the island with bones sat lower in the sky than several others, or worry that perhaps when they ascended, they might not be alone.

But it was still troubling to her, and she found herself worrying her lip over it.

"Somethin' botherin' yuh?" Fentulk asked sleepily. The breeze was light and the sun warm. Apart from the _plunk_ of his da's hook landing in the water and the quiet rumble of the falls not far away, the day was peacefully quiet. He only knew Joanne was out of sorts because she seemed to tense a bit.

"It isn't... easy," she said awkwardly. "I keep worrying..."

Kissing the top of her head, Fentulk said, "You don't have to. I ain't gonna... insist or nothin'."

Joanne laughed a little. "It isn't that. You will think I am terribly prudish."

"Whattaya mean?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"We shall be outside," she whispered. "Anyone could... could _see_ us."

Fentulk's head fell back against the tree as he laughed. "Sorry. You know, I've had to get used to things 'round here again. Forgot about a lotta stuff. Like flyin' up to an island once and havin' to move on 'cause some folks was at it on the one I aimed for. Or wakin' up in the night to take a piss and havin' to sneak past my folks all over each other..."

"Careful there, boy," Tagdish interrupted without turning around. "Ain't so old I can't hear yuh."

"Ain't so quiet the dead can't hear yuh, neither," Fentulk retorted with a grin.

"Cheeky," his father growled, shaking his head.

"Point is," Fentulk chuckled, "nobody's gonna sit there watchin'. It'll be like it's just the two of us, and nobody else in the whole world."

Sighing, Joanne snuggled closer to him. "How much longer until... Is there another ritual we must perform before we... go up?"

Fentulk's eyebrows rose and he looked down at her. "You, uh... ready, then?"

"I am ready whenever you are," she replied quietly, her cheeks coloring.

Swallowing nervously, he said, "How... how 'bout tonight?"

Smiling shyly, she said, "I have no other plans."

"Then I think... maybe we oughta make some."

* * *

The formal announcement to his parents of his intention to take Joanne to the island that evening caused an unexpected hurricane of activity.

" _Tonight_?" Kashka cried. "It's already past mid-day! So much to do..." Grabbing a startled Joanne by the hand, she marched the woman into the bedchamber. "Men! They never ask, and they never think ahead," she grumbled under her breath as she rummaged through a trunk. Each article she pulled from the depths was thrust into Joanne's arms until she was laden with drying cloths, a loose shift, and several corked earthenware bottles.

If Joanne was gnawing her lip anticipating being caught in Fentulk's arms on an island aligned specfically to that purpose, it was nothing to the embarrassment she experienced being stripped naked and bathed in the stream running alongside the family home. Kashka was brisk but thorough, ensuring the woman was washed head to toe and scented with oil made from dreamfoil.

To her complete mortification, several women going about their errands, and a few men as well, noticed their activities. At least two of the men grinned as they passed.

"Can't be helped," Kashka grumbled to herself, for Joanne's grasp of Orcish was still too weak for her to understand every word. "Had that bonehead son of mine mentioned his plans earlier, we might have done this properly." Still, she did her best to shield Joanne's tattoos from sight, even wrapping a cloth around her hips. Joanne wasn't nearly as concerned about her marks being seen as she was her breasts.

While his mother scrubbed Joanne within an inch of her life, Fentulk did the same below the falls and out of sight of his future mate. Tagdish couldn't bring himself to make it harder on his son; though the welts had been healed across Fentulk's back, they were hideous and numerous. He couldn't even touch him, fearing he might do Fentulk additional harm.

"Son," Tagdish ventured quietly while Fentulk dried himself off, "yuh sure yer up to this?"

Fentulk paused for a moment. "Da, I been wantin' to... to ask'er for awhile now. Maybe ever since I saw'er. I just _knew_. Maybe I been takin' her up there in my head for weeks."

"Well, maybe yer head's ready, but what about the rest of yuh?" Tagdish asked seriously. "Yuh said yer still hurtin'."

"I am," Fentulk nodded, pulling up his trousers. "Bits here and there. I ain't plannin' on fightin' an ogre, just makin' love with my mate." His breath caught, hearing those words spoken out loud.

"Well, you be careful," Tagdish said wryly. "Some women'll surprise yuh. Think you _are_ fightin' an ogre when all's said and done."

Fentulk arched his brow. "You sayin' ma's a bit rough with yuh, da?"

"There's a bit of give and take there," Tagdish snorted noncommitally. "And I'll thank yuh to mind yer own business."

"You just keep yer business quiet and I'll stay out of it," Fentulk grinned.

"When'd we ever wake you up from yer beauty sleep, boy?" his father growled, putting his fists on his hips.

"Lost count, da," Fentulk replied with a shrug. "Got so I had to cover my head with a pillow." Laughing at his father's indignant glare, Fentulk whispered, "'Stand ready, soldier.'"

Tagdish narrowed his eyes. "You cheeky little..."

"'I hear and obey,'" Fentulk quoted, his grin broadening. "' _Lok'regar_ , captain of my heart.'"

"That's enough'uh that!" his father barked, his brown cheeks darkening. "Just you wait, boy. Just you wait."

"Lookin' forward to it, da," Fentulk laughed.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky when Fentulk and Joanne finally faced each other in their traditional clothing. Though several days of rest had strengthened him considerably, Fentulk still found it difficult to master his emotions when he looked upon her. She was timid and nervous, unsure what to do with her hands. The dress clung to her body, following the curves of her breasts and hips. In the space between the ties on one side, he could just see the dark brown lines of her tattoo; his breath quickened with anticipation of seeing even more.

Tagdish tied a pack laden with blankets and pillows to one side of his wyvern's saddle, and another with fruit and cold meat on the other side. He'd stashed a flagon of honey mead with the food, just in case.

While Kashka fussed over the way her dress hung and made sure the ties would at least remain closed for the flight up, Joanne could only look at Fentulk and smile. She was ready for this. Perhaps more than ready. As her eyes fell to the embroidered panel hanging from the front of his belt, she suddenly recalled the advice of a young woman named Kraya.

"Move your hips with his," Kraya told her through Greatmother Geyah. "Make the talbuk dance with the clefthoof." When Joanne appeared confused, Kraya shifted her infant son into another's arms, spread her feet apart and bent her knees, then rolled her hips forward and backward. The display, though mostly serious, was exaggerated just enough to be lascivious. Her friends cheered and giggled, particularly at Joanne's blush.

The blush returned now, accompanied by considerable embarrassment at her thoughts. Glancing up at Fentulk's face, she saw that he was smiling gently. His smile turned rueful as he looked at his parents.

"All right, enough fussin'," he said. "Gonna lose the daylight."

"Just see that yuh take these packs off _before_ yuh send the beast back," Tagdish reminded him. "Don't wanna have to wait on me or yer ma to fly'em back up."

"Yeah, I'll remember," Fentulk grunted.

"Go easy on her," Kashka said pointedly. "She'll have some pain and there'll be a little blood, most likely. You help her through it."

Fentulk frowned and shot a look at his father. "You didn't say nothin' 'bout pain and blood, da."

Chagrined, Tagdish muttered, "Guess I forgot."

"Yes, well, that's likely because I didn't bleed," Kashka shrugged. "Sometimes women don't. You just never know. Regardless, it'll sting a bit for her, taking you in, so make sure..."

"Ma, I got _that_ talk from da," Fentulk interrupted. "You don't have to keep on. We'll figure it out. Can we go now?"

Kashka shot a nasty look at Tagdish, as if their son's cheek was entirely _his_ fault, then said, "All right. Get going. The sun's almost gone."

 _Finally_ , Fentulk thought as he lifted Joanne onto the back of the wyvern. She had to sit sideways, for the design of the dress wouldn't allow her to sit astride. Fentulk carefully mounted behind her, taking care not to expose himself in the process.

"I'm thinkin' part of this whole thing is makin' yuh wear embarrassin' clothes," he whispered in her ear, making her giggle nervously. Taking the reins, Fentulk snapped them and kicked the wyvern's flanks. In moments, they were in the air.

Joanne clung to him tightly as the wyvern wheeled in a climbing spiral toward the chosen island. She hoped it wasn't being used; that particular one seemed to be of special significance to Fentulk. More arresting, however, was how he smelled. Quite beyond simply a _clean_ smell, he'd obviously used something similar to the oils Kashka gave her. It was difficult to define, and she found herself leaning into him and breathing him in, trying to identify it.

There was nothing unpleasant about the scent. In fact, it seemed to arouse her, unless it was his nearness that inspired such feelings.

She was not the only one distracted by unexpectedly delicious smells. Fentulk's grip on the reins was tighter than necessary as he tried to concentrate on steering their mount and not diving his nose into her sweet-smelling hair.

Soon enough, Fentulk guided the wyvern to a landing on the small island. In the center of the grassy top stood two trees, one arching out over the edge, its leafy canopy held up in supplication to the heavens. Fentulk dismounted and handed Joanne down.

She'd come barefoot, and the feel of the grass under her feet was soft and cool. Unlike the soil below them on the ground, that of the island wasn't quite so compacted by the traffic of many feet.

As Fentulk removed their packs, Joanne gazed over Nagrand spread out below them, taking care to keep herself in the center of the island. Even at dusk, she could see for miles in every direction. The islands were below the clouds, so her vision wasn't obscured. Strangely, to the southwest she noted a tall white mountain, seemingly out of place on the flat plains surrounding it. She almost turned to Fentulk to ask about it, then stopped herself and smiled. Time enough for all her questions to be answered, all his stories to be told, after the Asking.

Once the packs were unloaded, Fentulk urged the wyvern to fly back home. Then he set about unrolling some bedding for them. Every time he glanced up, Joanne's gaze was fixed somewhere else. She was seeing his home, drinking in the beauty of it. He hoped she was thinking of it as _her_ home as well. He certainly wanted her to feel that way.

"You hungry?" he asked, pulling the other pack onto the bedding and rummaging through it. "Got ma's talbuk steaks in here. Some Telaari grapes, a bit of grainbread..." Chuckling, he pulled out the flagon. "Da, I don't know where yuh got it, but I owe yuh."

Joanne joined him on the bedding and smiled. "Nagrand is wondrous. There is no direction that isn't beautiful. I want to see all of it with you."

"I'll show it to you," Fentulk promised. "Every day, a little more."

They ate in comfortable silence, their eyes frequently meeting. When their hunger was assuaged, Fentulk took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was time. He couldn't believe how nervous he was, as if there was still a chance she might say no.

 _Open your eyes_ , he'd been told a few times. Encouraged, he steadied himself and took the plunge.

"Joanne," he said, "I... I love you. With all my heart and soul. Will you... consent to be my mate?"

Even knowing that this was the purpose of bringing her to the island, Joanne still felt a surge of joy at his words. As if there was still a chance that he might not ask.

"Oh... Fentulk," she breathed, her shaking hand going to her throat and her eyes misting. "I do _so_ love you as well. Yes, I will be your mate. Yes!"

Nearly sagging with relief, Fentulk's breath escaped in a whoosh as though he'd been holding it. Gasping for air and laughing at the same time, he reached for her hands and held them tightly. "Thank you."

When all he did was smile gratefully at her, Joanne frowned a little. "Is there... more? I have heard... at least I think... for humans, there is more to it. A ceremony... something to make it... 'official.' Do the Mag'har have any such thing?"

Fentulk shrugged and shook his head. "No. Probably why there's such a damn fuss over the Askin' part, cause there ain't nothin' else. This here's an understandin' 'tween you and me. Ain't nobody else got the authority over what we feel and what we do. Just you and me."

"So... you could have asked me at any time," she said with a slight smile. "And your folk would have recognized me as your mate?"

"Don't know," he replied. "I think... bringin' you home, you doin' that Trial, gettin' marked... All that was kinda necessary, so they'd accept yuh. Gotta admit, though," he added sheepishly, "always wanted to take a woman up here. Dreamed of it. So... I don't think I _coulda_ asked yuh before. That and, uh... wasn't so sure'uh yer answer til now."

"I think, Fentulk," she whispered, "my answer has not changed from the moment you rescued me from that tower. So like a knight in shining armor, you were." She smiled fondly at him, and he laughed.

"More like a squire in dirty britches," he grunted ruefully.

"None wear them so well as you," she teased.

"What I got now's a sight nicer, though," he suggested.

"Yes, quite," she smiled.

Sobering a bit, Fentulk murmured, "Can I kiss yuh, Joanne?"

"Won't you please?" she sighed.

Though he'd practiced in his mind many times over the last few weeks, Fentulk was nervous as an inexperienced young man. Was it because _she_ had never been kissed by an Orc? Was that what made it even more important that he go carefully? He was afraid to ruin the moment even by instructing her to be still so he wouldn't cut her with his tusks, so he simply cupped her face gently in his large hands and leaned close.

Joanne didn't know what to do with her hands again, and kept them clasped nervously in her lap. She tried to relax, to let him draw her in. Her eyes closed of their own accord.

When his lips touched hers, a small, surprised gasp escaped her, then she sighed. Her body seemed to go limp; she raised a hand to his bare chest to steady herself. She hadn't expected his mouth to be so soft and gentle, or for his tusks to press so lightly against her cheeks.

After a few moments, Fentulk withdrew slightly and pressed his forehead to hers. He could barely catch his breath. "Joanne," he breathed. "Will you... will you lie with me tonight? I want... I've wanted yuh for so long." Swallowing hard, he added, "Yuh don't have to. We can just... It's okay if yuh don't..."

"Fentulk," Joanne whispered, "I do."

He tried not to grin like an idiot, or giggle with nervous relief. Why did he feel so clumsy and young tonight? It was maddening! Taking several deep breaths to calm himself, Fentulk shifted to sit alongside Joanne.

"I do not know what to do," she blurted nervously. "I apologize. You are so much... better at this than I."

Now he _did_ laugh. "All I thought I knew seems like it stayed on the ground. Feels like I ain't ever done it myself." Easing himself down, he stretched out on his side facing her and leaned on his elbow. "Cause it's _you_ , may as well be my first time, too."

"Forgive me if I just... let you lead," she said awkwardly.

"All right," Fentulk nodded. "Come lie down, then."

Taking a deep breath, Joanne lay on her back beside him, her arms at her sides. Fentulk frowned a little. "Maybe... if you... got to know me a little... yuh might not be so nervous."

Looking at him with surprise, she said, "I _do_ know you."

"I mean," he said delicately, "get to _know_ me. My, uh, body. Maybe if you got yerself... familiar with it. I know I'm sorta... bigger'n humans. Don't blame yuh if it makes yuh nervous."

"Oh," she breathed. Nodding bravely, she turned onto her side so she could face him, and propped herself on an elbow as he was doing. Though she'd longed to touch him, such thoughts were easy to imagine without opportunity to indulge them. Now, however...

Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched his chest. A half smile curved his mouth as he watched her eyes flicking from her hand to his face, still unsure yet curious and in some ways enthralled with the newness of such a simple intimacy. As he remained still and didn't interfere, she grew bolder, her hand exploring the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen. But there she stopped and withdrew, her face aflame.

"I am sorry," she whispered, unable to look at his face. She could not take her eyes off the embroidered panel concealing his manhood, for it was not hiding the affect she was having on him. Though she longed to see him again, she felt embarrassed guilt for wanting to, and a good deal of worry for what it would _feel_ like.

"It's all right," he said reassuringly, yet somewhat nervously. "Ain't no rushin' these things."

"I just do not know what to do," she lamented. "I look upon you and... I... I do not know..."

"Hey," he said softly, raising a gentle hand to her cheek, "it's all right. This is somethin' new. I understand."

"You have been with...," she began, feeling close to tears of frustration and inadequacy, but he stopped her with a thumb lightly on her lips.

"I ain't thinkin' 'bout them," he said. "So don't you think 'bout'em. It's just me and you, for always."

Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

"Now... tell me what _you_ wanna do, all right?" he urged gently. Her eyes flicked downward and she bit her lip. "You wanna see me? Maybe you won't be so nervous if you see it."

He hadn't thought Joanne could get any more red in the face. She couldn't say a word; she could only nod. Feeling a bit nervous himself, Fentulk took her hand and brought it down between them. Her fingers brushed the edge of the front panel and he gently guided her in pulling it aside.

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, seeing her worried expression, "I know it's... kinda big. Um... we'll go slow, okay?"

Joanne nodded again, then looked up into his eyes. "Please, Fentulk," she said shakily, "if you could lead... I just... I..."

"'S'okay," he assured her. "I'll, uh... I'll take yuh through this. It'll be all right." Covering himself back up, he gave her a slight smile and was relieved to see her beginning to relax again. Reaching up to her cheek, he gently kissed her again. It was a struggle, keeping his passion in check. He wanted to kiss her fiercely, tear at the clothing covering her body, drive her to cry out his name...

 _Plenty of time for that another day_ , he reminded himself. _Tonight is only the beginning._

While he kissed her, his hand strayed from her cheek to the first tie at her shoulder. One quick pull was all it would take to undo it, but he restrained the impulse. Joanne barely felt the tie loosen, only knowing it was undone when Fentulk's kissing shifted from her mouth down her neck to her shoulder.

The softness of his lips excited her; even the light brush of his tusks was somehow arousing. Her free hand found its way to his head, and she caressed his neck and ear as he slowly drew the front panel of her dress down. When she felt his lips upon her breast, only then did she become aware of its exposure, and she trembled.

With lips and tongue, he explored the contours of her breast. The unexpected pleasure of his attentions made Joanne go limp and settle on her back. He gently took her hand and raised it above her head, intertwining their fingers in a light grip. Then he slid his hand down her arm, past her breast, to the second tie.

Joanne's body was sensitive to every touch, feeling almost electrified with desire. Every caress, every kiss, enflamed her. She felt the second tie loosen, but it was not so noticeable with his mouth upon her breast, his tongue laving and flicking her hardened nipple. Her nervousness seemed to have lessened considerably, or perhaps it had simply been forgotten.

His warm hand smoothing over her ribs, easing the front panel down farther, seemed to envelope her in a spell. There was only Fentulk in her mind, his hand on her body, his mouth on her skin. Heat radiated from his touches, and she could almost feel the waves rippling from the point of contact to her center.

And in that place, there was a desperate need like nothing she'd ever experienced.

Fentulk shifted slowly down, moving his body along hers and mouthing her scented flesh as he went. Little gasps and sighs told him he pleased her. Finally close enough to rest his head upon her hip, he pulled the third tie loose with a shaking hand. The little he'd seen of her tattoo had been an enticement, a tease, and now he would see it all. Drawing an unsteady breath, he slowly pulled the dress aside.

Joy mingled with desire as he gazed upon the talbuk. Even in the moonlight, every detail stood out sharply against her pale skin. Beyond the beauty of the image was its meaning. He realized that, without this tattoo on Joanne's body, he would not have felt he had come home.

His fingers delicately traced the image, and he glanced up at Joanne's face. "It don't hurt, does it?" he asked quietly.

She seemed to drift awake from a dream and met his eyes. "No," she said with a breathless smile. "No, it doesn't."

He nodded and continued his gentle exploration. While the site of the tattoo didn't hurt, she found it was more sensitive than the rest of her skin, if that were even possible. Yet he seemed mindful of that, and his caress soothed even as it excited.

Leaning over her, Fentulk lowered his head and pressed his lips to her pelvis, where the talbuk's forehead was imprinted. Once there, his mouth wanted no other task than applying kisses to the entire pattern. To see the other side, and repeat the same treatment there, he pulled the last tie at her knee. In moments, the dress was opened completely.

Joanne barely noticed that she was lying naked to the open sky. With the slow, patient use of lips and tongue, Fentulk kept her blissfully unmindful of that fact. Her attention was focusing more sharply on one part of herself, though. Of their own accord, her legs began to ease apart.

Pleased that his attentions were having the desired effect, Fentulk stroked her thigh and continued kissing her belly from hip to hip, even nuzzling her mound a few times. He didn't urge or push; he let her open herself to him at her own pace.

Smiling a bit, Fentulk carefully maneuvered himself between her legs as they parted. He made a special effort not to startle her or draw attention to his movements. There was no mystery in this; he'd managed to arouse her completely, and instinct prepared her for him.

When his tongue touched her, Joanne's eyes flew open and she jerked with surprise. "Oh!" she cried, and looked down. Fentulk met her eyes briefly, winked at her, then closed them again. Her shock wore off very quickly as his tongue sunk her once more into bliss. A long sigh flowed out of her and she collapsed back on the bedding.

The feel of his wet tongue swirling around her most secret place brought gasps and whimpers of pleasure. Her hands fisted in the bedding, gripping tightly when he dipped inside her, tasting her, thrilling her.

Something seemed to be building inside her, something Joanne had never felt before. She hadn't been inclined to explore her own body, and so knew nothing of what was happening now. Whatever it was seemed strong and unquenchable, yet _needing_ to be quenched. Desperately. She quivered all over, straining for something to satisfy the need, and Fentulk was there. His eager mouth was _there_ , at the center of the maelstrom, and she pressed into him, begging him, _commanding_ him, though she could form no words.

Then Joanne felt as though she was being buffeted by gale winds in a storm. Wave upon wave of rapturous, fulfilling pleasure roared through her body. So startled was she that she cried out, heedless of any who might hear her.

Fentulk could barely suppress the grin as he continued working at her, gradually bringing her down from her peak, drawing it out. She was more than ready for him now, he mused. When she calmed and relaxed somewhat, he stretched out over her body, his hips between her legs, and rested on his elbows so he could look down at her delirious face. He couldn't stop smiling.

"I think it'll go easy now," he told her when her eyes focused on him. "Still gonna hurt a little."

He could have told her the island was falling to the ground and she wouldn't have taken particular note of the warning. Her heart was still beating fast, and she could barely catch her breath.

Chuckling to himself, he raised himself on his hands and knees and untied the embroidered panels, discarding them. Now that he was looking down over her body laid out beneath him, he decided he didn't want those leggings on either. With fumbling hands, he hastily peeled them off and tossed them aside, making a mental note to fold them properly later so his da wouldn't know he'd been so careless with them.

Moving back into position between her legs, he took a deep breath and asked, "You ready for me?"

"Yes," she gasped, her voice pitched high and breathless. "Yes, I am."

Nodding, Fentulk took hold of his member and seated it at her opening. She gasped a little; it was quite a bit different from his tongue, and much larger. Her brow pinched with worry and she bit her lip. Her legs instinctively drew together a bit.

"No, no," he said gently, "keep'em apart, all right? Open up as wide as yuh can." Joanne nodded nervously and tried to relax, letting her legs fall open beneath him, yet she was still tense. "All right. Here I come."

An embarrassed titter burst out of her suddenly, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Fentulk shook his head, a wry grin on his face. "Can't believe I said that."

Both of them dissolved in laughter, effectively easing their tension. When the giggling wound down, he smiled warmly and said, "Okay, for real now." Joanne readied herself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Then she nodded.

The way was comfortably dampened by his earlier efforts, easing his initial entry. Sooner than he expected, he met resistance and stopped. "I don't know if slow or quick'll work better," he said apologetically, "but you tell me, okay?"

She nodded, raising her hands to grip his shoulders. Fixing her eyes on his, she held her breath.

Swallowing hard, Fentulk pushed into her slow and steady. He winced when she whimpered. "You okay?" he asked. "'S'gonna hurt a bit." Joanne nodded and bit her lip again. He could see the discomfort and worry in her eyes, and feel the grip of her hands on his shoulders. Maybe she wasn't in agony, but it wasn't painless either.

Without warning, he broke through and slipped almost all the way inside her. It took them both by surprise. Fentulk let out a low groan of pleasure, breathing an almost euphoric _oh fuck_ as her tight body accepted him. For Joanne, the earlier need woke anew and informed her that _this_ was what it wanted the first time. Not only did it accept the new offering, it basked in the full feeling it gave.

She gasped several times, unable to articulate anything. Worried, Fentulk said, "You okay?"

"Oh yes," she panted, her voice still high-pitched. "Yes... yes, I'm... oh yes... This... this feels so... so good... ooohhh..."

Smiling, he withdrew a bit then eased in again, this time burying himself to the hilt. He settled himself down on his elbows, his body cleaved to hers, and just watched her face with rapt fascination. She was enjoying this; enjoying _him_. Moving inside her brought such rapturous expressions, though he continued to go slowly.

Though it was difficult for him to restrain the need for completion, he forced himself to calm. He wanted to bring her off again. He wanted their first time together to be a wonderful memory they would hold close forever.

Were he a younger man, or less experienced, he might have easily lost control and ended it too soon. For this moment alone, he was grateful for his past indiscretions. He'd learned restraint well, and as he predicted, Joanne would benefit from it.

After awhile, he leaned down and kissed her. His passions momentarily ran away with him, and he kissed her fiercely. Her arms encircled his neck as she welcomed even a slightly rougher contact. It seemed to be what she needed to remind her of Kraya's advice.

Setting her feet flat on the bedding, Joanne noted the movement of Fentulk's hips, and pivoted her own in time with his. The change in her receptivity brought a moan of pleasure from him, and his pace quickened a bit.

Their bodies touching at nearly all points, it was only minutes later that he drove her to the heights of pleasure once more. This time, he was able to join her in her moment of completion.

Gasping for breath, Fentulk withdrew and lay beside her, resting his head on her breast. Her arm cradled his shoulders, her fingers caressing his sharply pointed ear. When he could manage a few words, he looked up at her and murmured, "I love you so much. I hope yuh know that."

Her eyelids were heavy with fatigue as she met his gaze. "Everything you've ever done has told me how much you love me. I don't know if I've shown you my love as well as you have shown me yours. But I do love you, Fentulk."

He grinned. "I can tell, now that I'm lookin'," he said. "Just didn't wanna admit it 'fore now. Didn't wanna make yuh do somethin' yuh didn't wanna do."

"You never have," she reassured him. "I've wanted to be here, with you, for quite some time."

An amused smile softened his face. "Guess I better get us our own place now, eh?"

"Yes," she laughed. "Please do."


	32. Epilogue: Karmic Payback's a Bitch

Amarn's eyes narrowed as he peered through the spyglass. The sun was nearly set, but there was enough light left that he wasn't mistaken in what he was seeing on the island over a hundred yards away. Sighing, he lowered the glass and snapped it shut.

"What?" Derek grumped. He was still nursing an arm injury taken on the ground. Who knew elekk bulls attacked on sight in the wild? They always seemed so calm with the Draenei...

"I think we're done here," Amarn said, and rose to pack his things. Derek grabbed the discarded spyglass.

"Oh _ho_!" he crowed when he focused on the other island. "I don't think so, numb nuts! If you think I'm missing that big bastard fucking the shit outta her after all I've been through, you're crazy."

Shrugging disinterestedly, Amarn informed him, "I'm going to Telaar. There might be a message for us there. Then I'll be casting a portal and getting the hell out of this cess pit. If you don't want a lengthy trip home ahead of you, I suggest you stop gawking and get moving."

Chewing his lip with indecision, Derek finally growled, "All right. Much as I'd like to see that little bitch take a pounding..."

"Get over it," Amarn snapped as he secured his pack on the gryphon's back. "This is a dead end. We've watched for days, and there's been no change to the traffic in or out of the village. He obviously didn't come here to mobilize the Mag'har."

"Who gives a shit about that?" Derek snarled, standing up and rounding on the mage. "I have been through _hell_. I wanna see some fucking. I'm _owed_ that, dammit!"

"Save it for when we get to Telaar," Amarn replied witheringly. "Surely even _you_ can hold out _that_ long."

"Son of a bitch," Derek muttered. He barely had his bedroll tied down when Amarn took off. He hastily mounted his own gryphon and launched into the night sky after the mage.

* * *

When they reached the Alliance post at Telaar, Amarn was in no hurry to check the mailbox. True, they'd been out of contact with their superiors for several days, but it wasn't likely that anything had changed. He was actually surprised to find a message waiting for him.

The letter was short and concise, typical of Shaw's usual, yet the message froze Amarn in his tracks.

"What's the problem?" Derek asked with little interest. It was very late in the night and almost no one was about. In spite of the nearly worthless peek he'd gotten of the Orc and the woman fiddling around on the island, he'd at least seen one of her tits. Too bad they weren't in Shattrath where tail could be dredged up from the Lower City at a moment's notice and at any hour of the day or night. He'd have at a Gnome if that was all he could get at this point. Even Amarn was looking tempting.

"Hey, uh," he said quietly, edging up next to the mage, "you interested?" Amarn looked up sharply from the note and narrowed his eyes. Derek leered and cupped his privates.

Giving him a withering look, Amarn extended a hand palm up and summoned a small, intensely hot flame. Recalling where the mage used fire on the Orc, Derek swallowed and backed up a few paces. "Never mind," he muttered.

"Read this," Amarn snarled, thrusting the paper into Derek's chest. Blinking, the rogue did so.

_The Horde dropped a mana bomb and destroyed Theramore. You are being recalled. Abandon current target. Report to SI:7 headquarters immediately._

The air whooshed from Derek's lungs in a rush. "Whuh...," he gasped. "Theramore's... What?"

"I expect there's nothing left of it," Amarn said evenly, his voice barely masking his fury. "A mana bomb big enough to destroy a city that large... There's likely a crater the size of Dalaran."

"Those filthy bastards," Derek hissed, beginning to shake.

"Dalaran," Amarn repeated thoughtfully, rubbing his bearded chin and narrowing his eyes. "You know, the message says _current_ target." He met Derek's gaze. "It doesn't say anything about targets we identified along the way."

Confused, Derek said, "Whattayou mean?"

A slow grin spread across Amarn's face, baring his even, white teeth. "Interested in a little payback?"

The light dawned and Derek smirked. "The mage bitch?"

"You never know," Amarn said, pulling his portal-casting components from a pouch on his belt. "She _might_ know something about the Horde's movements."

"Might not," Derek shrugged.

"We won't know unless we ask." Amarn began to cast a portal to Dalaran. Derek cracked his knuckles and grinned.

* * *

Kora woke with a start when a bucket full of ice cold water was thrown at her. Blinking her eyes clear, she took in her surroundings, panic building. She was hanging by shackles at her wrists in the center of a small circular room of damp and moldy stonework. Her ankles were manacled to the floor. Someone had applied a seal to her mouth, preventing all speech. Her hands and mouth restrained, she could cast no spells to protect or free herself.

Men had grabbed her in the Underbelly that afternoon as she watched some Gnomes fighting in the Circle of Wills. Her spell-casting had been silenced in the tussle, leaving her vulnerable to the blow that rendered her unconscious. She now recalled that no one came to her aid; those in the immediate area looked away as though they wished not to get involved. Now that she was aware again, she wondered if it _had_ been that afternoon? How long had she been out?

"Ah, the princess awakes," a man's voice chortled. Stepping in front of her, his eyes slid down her body and back to her face. She realized then that she was naked. Beginning to tremble, she stared into his one eye, the other covered by a patch.

"Welcome to our humble home here in the mountains, milady," he said with mock gallantry. He even pulled off a swift bow. "I'm sure my loyal servants will make you feel right at home." Glancing to her left, he nodded curtly and stepped back to lean against the wall. He folded his arms over his chest and smirked at her.

A dark-haired man with hate-filled eyes stepped in front of her. "We're gonna have some fun, you and me. Maybe I'll ask you some questions. Maybe not. Maybe we won't have much to say to each other. But you know what?" He stroked her cheek with a calloused hand, sliding it around to the back of her head. Then he gripped her loosened hair, jerking her head back. "I hear three thousand died in that blast. So you know what I think? I think you're gonna pay for each one of them. That's right. You better hope you got enough skin for it."

Kora shook all over. She felt the attunement with Fentulk die a week ago, but in her current state, she forgot entirely.

_*** Fentulk! I need you! ***_

"Yeah," the man said, releasing her only to pull on a pair of padded gloves. He flexed his fingers leisurely, making sure they fit properly. "You and me'll have things to do for as long as you've got something to pay with." Like a snake striking, he rammed his fist into her gut. The sudden attack would have doubled her over if she hadn't been stretched tall by the chains. All it managed to do was drive a whimper from her, and force her bladder to empty. Derek sneered.

"Not so tough now, are you?" he growled, circling around. "Wonder what else we can work on? Cause you know, I had friends in Theramore. Lotta good friends. Some good pussy, too." His hand slid across her buttocks. Kora squirmed aside, and he chuckled cruelly. "Dorath?" he questioned.

The man leaning against the wall shrugged. "If I didn't see it, it didn't happen," he replied. Straightening, he headed for the door. "I think I've got some paperwork to attend to. Carry on."

The cell door slammed shut. Kora screamed against the gag.

_*** Fentulk! Answer me! ***_

There was no reply. No whisper. No connection at all. She screamed over and over again.

Derek's laugh echoed in the dank cell.


End file.
